Lesser Evils
by ScottPress
Summary: Dark magic, Death Eaters, politics - and in the middle of it all, Harry Potter. Tested against enemies old and new, he learns that power requires sacrifices; revenge, doubly so. Book One of Dark Triad Trilogy.
1. PROLOGUE: Changes, Part 1

**AN:** Standard fanfiction disclaimer. I make no profit from this and I don't want to. I do this for fun.

This is a reupload. I purged my account in October 2018 when the profile hack happened. Originally, this story was published between October 2014 and March 2017. No changes were made to the text, I'm reuploading it as it was, typos and all.

 **Lesser Evils**

 **Book One of Dark Triad Trilogy**

 **PROLOGUE: Changes**

 **Part 1**

Voldemort's furious screams still rang in Harry's ears when he landed on wet grass. He gave into the exhaustion and unclenched the numb fingers, releasing his wand, the Triwizard Cup and Cedric.

 _Another one dead because of me._

If his rebellious side wanted to argue, he was too tired to pay attention. The haze on his mind cleared enough to let through noise and light. He was instantly deafened by the shouting and blinded by the cameras flashing.

Someone was shaking him.

"Harry!" a powerful voice said, closer than the others. "Harry, I cannot pretend to know what you just went through, but you must wake up and tell me what happened. What did you see?"

"Professor… Dumbledore?" Harry mumbled.

"Yes, Harry, it is me. Can you tell me what you saw?"

"Voldemort," he whispered.

"Voldemort," Dumbledore repeated after him flatly. "He's returned?"

"Yes."

He couldn't tell if Dumbledore cast a spell on him, he only felt a wave of warmth and passed out.

~~oOo~~

He deliberately did not open his eyes when he awoke. There were voices, familiar voices, discussing what had happened during the Third Task.

"…delusional, Albus," someone was saying indignantly. It was a voice Harry knew, but couldn't quite place.

"Again with your crazy theories about You-Know-Who," that same voice continued. "The man is dead! He can't have returned!"

"You heard yourself what Mr. Potter said yesterday," Albus Dumbledore answered. There was no mistaking him for anyone. "And I don't believe he was lying."

"I'm not saying he lied, Albus," the first voice argued. "But what he believes he saw isn't necessarily the truth! For all we know, he could have been hallucinating!"

"Then who do you suppose was behind the kidnapping? I trust you will conduct a proper investigation. A student is dead."

"Yes, yes, it is very… _unfortunate._ I shall instruct Amelia to do whatever it takes to uncover the truth."

"We already know who's responsible," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "I implore you to see reason. At least listen to what Mr. Potter has to say."

Harry opened his eyes and sat up on the bed, ignoring the pain in his muscles. For a moment he wondered what to say but when no words came to mind, he stayed silent. Dumbledore looked at him with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"How long have you been awake, Harry?"

"A minute or two, Professor."

"Mr. Potter." The other man greeted him with a small nod. "I am truly sorry… the security… well, clearly, there wasn't _enough_ security."

Looking at him now, Harry recognised Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic.

"It wasn't your fault, sir," he said. As much as he wanted to put the blame on someone, he didn't think the Minister was the right person.

"That's very generous of you, Mr Potter," the Minister said. "Now that you're awake, we can deal with… formalities. Yes…"

From his robes, he pulled out a bag full of Galleons and placed it on the nightstand.

"An official ceremony should be taking place, but under the circumstances… I'm sure you can understand. According to the sentries who were watching over the champions during the task, you and Mr. Diggory reached the cup together, but since he is… Well, you are the winner of the Tournament. And that's your reward. A thousand Galleons."

"I don't want it," Harry said. "I don't deserve it. It should have been Cedric's. At least give it to his family."

"Don't be ridiculous, boy!" the Minister snapped. "You won, fair and square. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must really return to the Ministry. Someone has to sort out this mess…"

"Don't you even want to know what happened?" Harry asked.

"You may be called on as a witness in the investigation. Until then, keep your story. And please, don't spread any rumours about You-Know-Who returning. The chaos has already got far too out of hand."

"I'm not lying!" Harry insisted. "It's true! I saw him! I _fought_ him!"

But the Minister was already gone. Harry turned to Dumbledore, who was still watching him intently.

"Do you want to know what happened, Professor?"

"I do," the Headmaster said. "But I would not force you to relive those events so soon. Take a few days to recover. I only ask of you this – do not tell anything to anyone until after you've told me."

Harry considered it and shook his head.

"Thank you sir, but I'd rather deal with it now. It'll only get harder if I don't."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, nodding. "You have suffered no grave injuries, so I shall inform Madam Pomfrey not to hold you back when you wish to leave, although you should avoid overexerting yourself. Come see me in my office at your convenience." He turned to leave, but stopped briefly by the door. "If you're feeling a bit weak, there's nothing like a chocolate frog to get your energy up."

"What was that?" asked Ron a moment later. He and Hermione came in just as Dumbledore was leaving and heard the Headmaster's impromptu advice.

"He gave me the password to his office," Harry explained.

"Oh, right. Sweets. Got it."

Hermione glared at Ron, as if trying to wordlessly project some message.

"How are you, Harry?" she asked softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. It seemed as though she wanted to say more, but couldn't find the right words.

"I've been better."

"Nobody's saying anything," Ron said. "There are rumours flying around, though. Something about..." He swallowed loudly. "...You-Know-Who?"

"Hush!" Hermione silenced him. "Not here, Ron!"

"I'll tell you," Harry said. "After I meet with Dumbledore. And Hermione's right – it's not safe to talk here."

"We're not here to question you, Harry."

Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand lightly. Harry glanced at their intertwined fingers, but did not return the gesture. He felt… He didn't know how or what he felt. There were too many emotions mixed together to make sense of them. None dominated, but they were all there, bubbling just beneath the surface.

"Yeah mate," Ron said, nodding. "Must have been rough."

"Cedric is dead," Harry deadpanned. "What do you think?"

Ron averted his eyes and stared at the wall somewhere above Harry's right shoulder. "Yeah, that… Dumbledore made a speech this morning."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione's eyes were shining with tears threatening to fall. "I'm so sorry. It must have been horrible."

"I didn't really have time to think about being scared," Harry said. "I was focused on getting out of there. And I'm kind of getting used to being in mortal danger, you know? It's not the first time Voldemort's tried to kill me and it won't be the last."

"Don't say that!" Hermione shrieked. "Please don't say things like that, Harry. I- I don't know what I would do if-"

She bit her lip, looking ready to start crying openly, but she didn't. It wouldn't be like her to just burst into tears. Instead, she launched herself forward, enveloping him in a tight embrace. Harry let her hold him for a moment, while Ron just stood and watched, not knowing what to do or say.

They stayed with him for a while longer and Harry acted like they were expecting him to. He gave the answers he knew they were hoping for and made appropriate gestures. He could pull off brooding well enough. If either Ron or Hermione noticed it was just a performance, neither called him out on it. He didn't know why, but he couldn't find it in himself to be entirely honest with them at the moment.

He felt more alone than ever before.

~~oOo~~

Malfoy was waiting for him in the hallway when Harry left the infirmary, having somehow found out when he would be getting out. Or maybe he waited all night, just to make sure he'd catch Harry leaving. Flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, he stepped forward and gave his best superior smirk.

"How are you feeling, Potter? Hopefully you still have something left in you. I hear the Dark Lord's parties can get rather intense," he whispered the last sentence just as Harry was passing by.

Harry's only response was to bump into Malfoy forcefully, pushing the taller boy back.

"Why you little half-blood-" Malfoy began, but the words became stuck in his throat when Harry abruptly turned back and shoved him against the wall, grabbing a fistful of the expensive robes and putting an arm across Malfoy's neck. Crabbe and Goyle, dumbfounded, did not react.

"Listen to me very carefully, Malfoy," Harry growled. "I heard once that surviving a near-death experience hardens a person. Considering that I've done it more than once, perhaps you should think before you open your big mouth in my presence again."

"Wait until my father-"

"WHAT ABOUT YOUR FATHER?"

Malfoy cringed when Harry screamed the words right into his face.

 _"WHAT,_ MALFOY? WHAT ABOUT YOUR FATHER?"

"Potter-" Malfoy tried again. Harry cut him off, pressing down harder on his throat.

"I'm done, Malfoy. I've had enough of your taunts and this petty rivalry. Cross me again and you'll wish you'd never been born."

~~oOo~~

Draco was breathing heavily as he watched Potter stalk away. He massaged his throat and then tore into Vincent and Gregory.

"Why didn't you do anything, you imbeciles?" he snarled at them.

"I- I'm s-sorry, Draco, Potter was just-" Vincent stammered.

"Oh, shut up."

Draco's gaze bore into Potter's back until his nemesis turned a corner.

Putting up an act in front of his friends wasn't hard, considering they were about as intelligent as Longbottom, if more useful, but he couldn't shake off the cold feeling creeping up on him. He'd never seen Potter act like this before. It was… unnerving.

 _Father will want to know._

~~oOo~~

Harry marched towards the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office grim-faced. He didn't bother trying to hide his foul mood or returning the greetings of the few people he met along the way. He barked out the password at the gargoyle and let the rotating staircase bring him before the door. He raised a hand to knock - and hesitated.

So... he was going to tell Dumbledore what happened… and then what?

The Headmaster would ask for answers, but give none in return. He'd say well done, award a few hundred points maybe, and send him away. Harry would spend the rest of the term trying in vain to find answers to the questions that would inevitably arise – and fail. And then Dumbledore would send him to the Dursleys again.

Not this time. He was entitled to some answers himself.

 _Let's see just how badly the Headmaster wants to know what happened._

He turned on his heel but didn't make it two steps before the door opened behind him.

"Harry?" Dumbledore's voice came from within. "Is something wrong?"

He sounded sincere.

"Were it only one something."

He rushed back down the stairs, not waiting for them to carry him.

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore found him atop the Astronomy Tower, leaning dangerously far over the edge of the battlements.

"Unless I am terribly mistaken, it is long past curfew, Harry."

He did not respond.

"But considering the recent events, I think we can forget about this one night escapade. I am rather surprised, however, that your friends aren't here with you."

"Why?" Harry asked, still staring into the dark landscape.

"I assumed you would seek solace in their company."

"They weren't with me this time. They wouldn't understand."

"Do you blame them?"

"Of course not!" Harry snapped.

"Why didn't you come in?"

"I wanted you to come to me."

"May I ask why?"

"Yes," Harry said. "You may."

He felt uncomfortable under the Headmaster's intense gaze, but tried not to give it away.

"Very well. Why, then?"

He took a moment to compose himself. "It's incredibly frustrating, you know? To be treated like a child one moment and then expected to act like an adult the next."

"If I have offended you in any way, Harry, I am very sorry."

"I'm not offended," Harry said. "I just want some answers."

"To what questions?"

"Let's start with the one I asked after I killed Quirrell."

"Ah…" Dumbledore's eyes were filled with regret. "I didn't know you were blaming yourself."

"I'm not," Harry interrupted. "I don't feel particularly bad about it. He was trying to kill me. I wasn't trying to kill him, but it happened. That's not what I meant and I will thank you to stop evading the question, sir."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I remember your question, Harry," he said. "How could I not? It had haunted me for years even before you asked it."

"And why would that be?"

"Because, my boy, it is such a simple question and yet is has such a complex and terrifying answer."

"I saw Voldemort come back from the dead, Professor. I think I can handle it."

~~oOo~~

Hermione observed her best friend keenly throughout the remainder of the semester. Harry was avoiding company and taking long walks along the lake. She once saw him feed apples to the giant squid.

He wasn't brooding, as was norm for him, even though he tried to appear that way. He seemed to be taking things very well, considering what had happened. He was polite when someone addressed him directly, but his short, laconic answers made it clear he wasn't in the mood for talking. The most she could get out of him was that he'd spoken with Dumbledore the night after he woke up, but nothing more. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't convince him to open up to her, so after a few days she stopped trying.

Exams were held sooner than usual because of the investigation the Ministry wanted to conduct - the Aurors didn't want students getting in their way. Therefore, a decision was made to send everyone home a few days earlier.

Ron mistook Harry's behavior for… well, whatever Ron was thinking about these days. She honestly didn't even care anymore.

But despite it all, somehow the three of them ended up together on the train. Hermione didn't know what to say to start any sort of conversation. Ron couldn't stay still and Harry didn't seem bothered by the awkward silence. He was sitting by the window, watching the world move past them as they sped towards London.

Hermione noticed Ron fidget in his place near the door. She shot him an inquisitive look, but he just shook his head before finally turning to Harry.

"So, Harry…" he started lamely, "I wasn't exactly okay towards you-"

He stopped abruptly, scrunching up his face, as if he'd intentionally bitten his tongue after hearing his own words.

"I mean about my… behavior… lately. Look, I'm really sorry, okay? It's just you've been so _weird_ since the Third Task and-"

Hermione was already opening her mouth to let Ron know he was being a prat when Harry interrupted him.

"It's fine, Ron. Forget about it."

He spoke in an flat tone, giving no indication of the anger that Hermione thought he was entitled to, or that he was happy at Ron's turnaround, which was what Hermione had been hoping would happen.

 _He's changed,_ she thought, a conclusion that did nothing to raise her spirits.

 _Of course he's different. He's been through a traumatic experience._

She challenged her own argument, pointing out that it had happened before. Professor Quirrell, the basilisk, dementors… and Harry stayed Harry.

 _But none of those events quite compare to seeing You-Know-Who rise from the grave._

That much Harry had told them, but gave no details. He also refused to speak about whatever it was he had discussed with the Headmaster.

He was isolating himself from everyone. Oh, he would speak to her and Ron sometimes, but briefly, and never initiated the conversation himself.

Rumours ran wild around the school, Malfoy became more vicious than ever and Harry just ignored it all, no doubt infuriating the Slytherin even further. Hermione only saw him acknowledge Malfoy once – with a stare that carried a hint of the anger that she was sure had to be boiling inside of him. She suspected Harry was simply choosing to be angry rather than afraid. While she could sympathise with that approach, it worried her that he kept everything inside. She almost wished he would take it out on her and Ron to get it off his chest.

It seemed, however, that if it was to happen, neither she nor Ron would be there to witness it.

 _Perhaps it's his own way of… I don't know, protecting us. That would be just like Harry, to try and deal with all that on his own._

In the last few days she'd managed to convince herself that this was the case and decided to leave him be for now.

 _He'll talk to us when he's ready. I won't push him._

~~oOo~~

Harry let himself be hugged by Hermione, gave Ron a faint smile and assured that they were okay, evaded Mrs. Weasley and went through the portal to the muggle part of King's Cross, only to be stopped by the imposing figure of Alastor Moody.

The ex-Auror didn't move, but Harry went for his wand nonetheless. He'd found out from Dumbledore that the person who had been teaching him Defense the whole year turned out to be an impostor. A Death Eater.

How could Dumbledore have not recognised that someone was impersonating the man he considered a close friend? Or if he had, which was likely with Dumbledore, why hadn't he done anything about it?

The impostor was caught trying to flee the school, still in disguise. Dumbledore searched the Defence Professor's office and found the real Alastor Moody locked inside his own trunk. The Death Eater must have been in a hurry to leave, because he had left everything behind, including his prisoner. Minister Fudge, in his infinite wisdom, had the man Kissed by a dementor.

Harry was starting to have serious doubts about the people who ran Wizarding Britain.

"Don't worry, boy," Moody said. "It's the real deal this time. Although I commend your vigilance."

"Forgive me if I'm a little suspicious, sir," Harry replied.

"Aye, can't blame you. Still, I'm here for something important. Why don't you show me this uncle of yours, eh?"

"Why?"

"I reckon he needs to be reminded that you're his family, and what that means."

"Did Dumbledore tell you to do this?"

"Aye," Moody grunted in response. "Heard 'em Dursleys weren't treating you too well."

"I see," Harry said. "Thanks for offering, but there's no need."

"What're you sayin' boy?"

"I know how to deal with them. You can tell the Headmaster I'll contact him if need be."

Moody stared at him intensely with the normal eye while his magical one moved constantly in all directions. "You sure, lad?"

"Quite sure. I have to do this on my own."

Moody kept staring.

"It's time for me to start changing some things," Harry said.

"Very well, if you're sure," Moody agreed, nodding once. "But someone will check up on you tomorrow, just in case."

"Unnecessary," Harry said. He caught Moody's gaze and added, "But appreciated."

"Then I wish you a good summer, lad. Constant vigilance," Moody said gruffly and disappeared through the portal.

Harry turned away from it and started pulling his cart towards the exit. Vernon was waiting for him outside.

"Hello, uncle."

"Just get in the car, boy," Vernon ordered and turned on his heel, walking back to a silver sedan.

"New car, is it?" Harry asked once his things were in the trunk. He knew very little about cars, but he could see that it wasn't the one he rode in to London last year. He got into the front passenger seat. He'd never been in the front.

"What the- _get in the back!"_ Vernon hissed, spitting.

"I don't think I will," Harry answered coldly.

Vernon's eyes widened momentarily and his face became a deeper shade of red. "How dare-"

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "Or I'll be forced to call up my godfather."

"Your… godfather?" Vernon blurted out, confused and angry.

"Yes, my godfather." Harry turned to look his uncle in the eye. "Sirius Black. The wanted mass murderer. He's a wizard, like me."

He looked straight ahead again and leaned into the seat comfortably. He'd given his Dursley problem a fair bit of thought during the train ride. He wasn't going to spend another summer weeding their garden and cooking their food. He would push against them further than they would dare push back.

 _And if that doesn't work, I can always ask Moody to drop by._

Vernon pulled into the driveway.

"Take my trunk upstairs," Harry said and promptly got out of the car, making sure to slam the door shut with as much strength as he could muster. Vernon, understandably, didn't care much for such behavior.

"Boy," he said through gritted teeth. "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry shot him a furious look. "Putting you in your place. And you could use the exercise."

"And where'd you get the idea that you can order me - or anybody - around? That freak school of yours, I'll bet-"

 _"Vernon,"_ Harry said smoothly, his voice laden with malice. "You don't want to make a scene, do you?"

With that, Harry turned around and went inside, where he was immediately assaulted by Petunia.

"What was _that?"_ she screeched. "What will the neighbors think!"

"I think their opinions are the least of your concerns right now," Harry purred and drew back his hand.

When Vernon saw Harry's handprint on Petunia's face and the culprit rummaging through _his_ fridge, he threw caution to the wind and charged at Harry like an enraged bull. Harry simply moved out of the way.

"You always say I'm ungrateful for your taking me in," he said. "Well, this summer I'll make sure to show you the depth of my gratitude."

"HOW DARE YOU RAISE A HAND TO MY WIFE?" Vernon bellowed.

Narrowing of Harry's eyes was all the warning Vernon received.

The next moment one of Petunia's tawdry vases was hurtling toward him. Vernon swiped his hands madly and the vase was thrown aside, shattering on the floor, but Harry wasted no time. He brought the kitchen chair down like a hammer, knocking Vernon off his feet.

He was in the moment, and furious. The anger that had been building up for years was pouring out like a flood.

"How dare I? HOW DARE _YOU!"_ Harry roared. He jumped back when Vernon's chubby fingers tried to grab his shirt and lashed out with a kick. And another one. And another.

"You treated me like dirt! I did everything you said and all I got in return was that stupid cupboard!"

Vernon had stopped fighting back and just raised his arms to protect his face. Petunia's whimpering could be heard from the hallway.

Harry tired quickly in anger, leaving Vernon right where he was, bruised and bleeding. He then turned back to his aunt and clenched his fingers around her throat.

"You treated me worse than a dog," he snarled. "If Dudley had been orphaned, my parents would have treated him like one of their own." He had no way of knowing that, actually, but he didn't care. "Things will be different from now on. Say one word I won't like, give me one wrong look, and _I'll fucking kill you."_

~~oOo~~

Life in Little Whinging had one significant advantage over the magical world. Here, Harry was relatively anonymous. He didn't really know anyone apart from the Dursleys and he couldn't care less what lies they had told their precious neighbors. Here, he was away from the prying eyes of his peers, Hogwarts staff and reporters. He could vent his anger and frustration on the Dursleys with no interference.

He was being watched, of course. He was wandering in the park one afternoon when he heard someone say his name.

"Wotcher, Harry."

In a blink of an eye, he had his wand out and pointing at the stranger.

"Nice reflexes," she said with appreciation. "I heard you were fast, but that's not something I'd expect from someone who spends as much time in hospital beds as you do."

It wasn't hard to remember someone with her distinct look, even though he'd only seen her once before, and very briefly.

"You were on the platform when I talked to Moody," he said. "Did he send you?"

"Well, he knows I'm here, but the request didn't come from him."

Harry allowed himself to relax his stance a little, but didn't lower his wand. "Dumbledore, then."

"Wrong again."

"My supply of patience is notoriously low these days."

She raised her hands in a defensive gesture, holding a letter in one. "Whoa, calm down. I'm watching you because Dumbledore said so, but I'm not supposed to talk to you. I'm actually going against orders by revealing myself, but family comes first."

"I think if I had any family beyond Dursleys, someone would have told me."

The woman grinned at him. "My mom is Sirius' cousin, so that makes me his... first cousin once removed, or something like that. And Sirius is your godfather, so that practically makes us family too."

"Fine." He put his wand away. "Who's the letter for?"

She held it out towards him. "You. Sirius wanted to talk to you, but it's not safe for him to leave the headquarters for now."

"What headquarters?"

"Read the letter. And by the way, I'm Tonks."

Harry hesitated for a moment. "Alright, Tonks," he said eventually. "Thanks for the letter."

"I'll see you soon, Harry." She winked at him and disappeared among the trees.

The letter proved informative – much more so than the ones Hermione and Ron had sent him, polite and full of assurances of support. Hermione also explained, in vague terms, why they couldn't write him about anything important – Dumbledore didn't want to risk the owl being intercepted. Harry supposed passing messages through one of his guards, like Sirius did, would defeat the purpose of them remaining unseen, although why Dumbledore wanted it that way he couldn't understand. At least now he had an idea of what the Order of the Phoenix was and what they were doing.

He returned home late - it was already dark. Privet Drive Four was filled with the usual noise of the telly playing in the living room, its light spilling out into the hallway. Harry passed by, spotting Vernon and Petunia huddled together on the sofa. Vernon noticed him and quickly looked away. Harry smiled with grim satisfaction.

 _Good._

The elder Dursleys had been properly cowed. Vernon's bruises were still clearly visible. He'd had to take a week off from work - he wouldn't show up at the office like that.

Petunia shivered under his gaze. She had been constantly on the verge of tears for the past few days.

Dudley, surprisingly, did not emulate his father and showed no signs of fear. Instead, he'd given Harry a wide berth since his return. Until tonight, apparently.

He was at the kitchen table, munching on a late evening snack and staring into the smaller television in the corner.

"Beat anyone up lately, Potter?" he asked idly.

"Keep talking and you'll have the honour of being my first victim today."

"Really?" Dudley scoffed. "I'd like to see that."

"I know a spell that will cut you in half," Harry said. "Wanna see your guts on the floor, Dudders?"

"You can't use your stick," Dudley retorted. "You'll be expelled from your school for freaks."

Harry glared at him. "But you'd still be dead."

Dudley seemed to be considering the implications of this threat. "I don't like what you did to mum, you know."

Harry snickered. "You've just noticed? Took you long enough."

"Watch your mouth, Potter," Dudley said. "You talk too much."

"You started talking first."

"In your sleep, too. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort! Who is he, your boyfriend?"

A window cracked, glass split in half. Harry glanced at it and turned back to Dudley. "Shut up."

"Did you do that?" his cousin demanded, pointing at the window. "You've already wrecked your own room, now you start breaking stuff down here?"

"SHUT UP!" Harry snapped, slapping his hands onto the table.

"You must be having your period or something," Dudley mocked. "Come on, pull out that wand of yours. Let's see some _magic!"_

"DUDLEY!" Vernon's voice reached them from the living room. _"Don't use that word!"_

"You're just going to let him get away with everything?" Dudley yelled back. "The freak hit mum and you-"

He couldn't finish the sentence because Harry broke a plate on his face. Then he knelt down on Dudley's chest, grabbed the collar of his shirt and slammed his head against the floor.

"I told you to shut your mouth," he growled. "Don't make me repeat myself again."

~~oOo~~

Ron withdrew an Extendable Ear.

"Well, it's official," he declared. "Harry's gone nuts."

"Don't say that!" Hermione protested.

"Why, do you disagree?" Ron asked. "He's beating the muggles into a pulp - I'm not saying it's a bad thing, they deserve it - but don't you think it's a bit worrying?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"He's been through so much... and they treated him badly. Everyone has a breaking point, Ron. Harry must have found his."

"I overheard Tonks saying that he was having nightmares. Trashing in the bed, screaming..." Ron spoke in hushed tones as they retreated to the room Hermione shared with Ginny. "She wanted to do something, but they have orders from Dumbledore not to enter the house. And then it just stopped, for no reason. You have any ideas?"

"No," Hermione said. "I would need to know more than that. But it's not unusual for him to have nightmares. And if they stopped, all the better."

 _It must have something to do with You-Know-Who,_ she thought.

"I don't get why he has to stay there," Ron grumbled. They weren't allowed to leave the house and Hermione suspected he must miss Harry's company just as badly as she did.

 _Well... perhaps not as much._

"Bloody muggles," Ron said. "Serves them right, even if Harry _is_ crazy."

At that moment, she couldn't agree more.

~~oOo~~

After an entire week filled with threats, glares and verbal abuse, culminating in Dudley receiving seven stitches after Harry's latest blow-up, the Dursley family finally understood the message Harry had been trying to convey.

They weren't in charge anymore.

At first, they rebelled against hiss attempts to impose his tyrannical rule on them, but eventually accepted the fact that this new Harry wasn't just a phase that would pass with time. The presence of the Order guards - some of them, like Mundungus Fletcher, weren't hard to spot - only served to intimidate the Dursleys further. They would rather obey Harry than let the neighborhood notice they had freaks crawling all over their property.

Harry learned through letters that Hermione and Ron, along with most of his family, had been relocated from the Burrow to the Order's headquarters in London. Harry theorised that Dumbledore was trying to keep him in the dark as payback for wrestling the text of the prophecy from him in June.

Or perhaps he was just reading too much into things. Having little to do in Little Whinging, Harry spent a lot of time thinking, mostly about what Sirius was writing him.

Then there were the nightmares.

They weren't just images of the night of Voldemort's resurrection. The knowledge that he was out there made Harry feel apprehensive, uneasy, nervous... But Voldemort wasn't here right now. He was a looming presence on the horizon - a threat, and never one to be underestimated, but not genuinely terrifying. The nightmares were something much more disturbing. Something all men fear - and Harry was no different.

The unknown.

There were eerie, echoing sounds, images, emotions: rage, uncertainty and hunger, for power and other things, strange things. And pain. Above all pain. His, someone else's - it didn't matter. It was always present, chilling to the bone and burning as red-hot steel. Voices screamed, begging mercy of their tormentor, but there was never any rest.

He didn't know what to make of it, what it was supposed to mean, and it scared him. There was something familiar there, but for days, he couldn't figure it out, forced to swim in the ocean of meaninglessness... Until one night, order was born of the chaos.

~~oOo~~

The Defence classroom looked different than he remembered it. The heavy curtains were gone, and the room was brightly lit. The skeleton that usually hung from the ceiling was also missing. The desks, instead of neat rows, were arranged in a u-shape, closer to the walls, leaving more space in the middle, where two of his classmates were currently exchanging spells. The stunner was the most liberally used by both of them, but each duelist had their own style.

The boy forewent subtlety in favour of more powerful and direct attacks, trying to shatter his opponent's defences with a steady onslaught.

The girl, on the other hand, danced around her end of the platform, deflecting most spells, which then dissipated against a barrier surrounding the platform. Her wand was spitting out hexes and jinxes whenever she could get a clear shot.

The boy stood straight, an easy target, and simply blocked all of her attacks, grinning as he did. The girl looked like she was having trouble keeping up with him – it showed in her expression and the fact that she started blocking some of his spells, her shield faltering with each blow.

The boy stepped forward, preparing to cast his final spell, but he took a moment too long and it was all the girl needed to snag the victory from him.

 _"Everte Statum!"_ she cried.

The spell struck the boy in the chest and suddenly he was the one grimacing while the girl smiled at him viciously.

"Very well done, both of you," said a woman at the back of the classroom. "But there can only be one winner. Take ten points for your victory, Miss Black."

Black? Harry's memory was fuzzy. He didn't recall anyone with that surname at Hogwarts. She looked to be about his age and he was sure he'd have remembered someone named Black in his year.

"Next time, don't start what you can't finish, mudblood." Black sneered at the boy, lying in a heap beyond the platform after her spell had thrown him off it.

"You just lost your ten points, Miss Black. There will be no foul language in my classroom."

The teacher reminded Harry of McGonagall, but that obviously wasn't her. She looked nothing like the Transfiguration Professor and besides, when did McGonagall ever teach Defence?

Black glared at the boy furiously, mouthing 'mudblood' at him and went back to her seat.

"Now, we still have a few minutes left. Any volunteers for the next demonstration?"

"Professor Merrythought?" asked someone from behind Harry. "I haven't had a chance to duel in a while."

Harry was puzzled. This new voice was eerily familiar. More so than anything else in this place.

The Professor smiled at the speaker. "No wants to go up against you anymore, Tom. I might have to start bringing in older students to provide you with adequate opponents."

Tom? The only Tom Harry could think of was the owner of the Leaky Cauldron. He couldn't be sure. His memory was still clouded. On second thought, there was also-

His chair screeched on the floor as he turned back hurriedly to look behind him, straight at the handsome face of Tom Riddle.

Riddle's gaze shifted from Professor Merrythought to Harry. He kept the friendly smile in place, but his eyes expressed more disgust than Harry thought it was possible to convey with a single look.

Suddenly, Harry felt very hot. He jammed a finger inside his collar to loosen it and found that he wasn't sweaty. The growing warmth became a pulsating headache and he barely stopped himself from slapping a hand on his scar in front of Riddle.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

That was when he woke up.


	2. PROLOGUE: Changes, Part 2

**PROLOGUE: Changes**

 **Part 2**

A stifled scream escaped his lips and he sat up on the bed, almost rolling off the side. With a groan, he stumbled blindly through his room and the hallway, into the bathroom. Without his glasses on, he walked straight into a cabinet holding Petunia's supply of creams, pills and other products. The ensuing racket lured Vernon out of the master bedroom.

"In the middle of-" he began, but Harry cut him off, slamming a fist into the cabinet, which, judging by the noise, upset its carefully arranged contents.

"You don't want to be in my way right now," he growled. "Just leave me alone."

Vernon wisely backed away. Harry splashed his face with cold water and took a few sips. By the time Vernon returned to the bedroom and locked the door, the headache had receded enough that it was merely an annoyance, but Harry was still shaking. Gripping the sides of the sink, he stared at his reflection.

"What the hell?"

What had just happened? Did he imagine it all? But if so, why was his scar hurting? It only reacted like that if Voldemort was somehow involved. Could he have made it all up – in his sleep, no less?

In hindsight, the experience was very similar to viewing a memory in a pensieve, but that time in Dumbledore's office, he knew almost all along it wasn't real – here, he didn't realise it up until the very end. Familiar elements were mixed in with unknowns.

Professor Merrythought - was she real? Did she teach Voldemort when he was at Hogwarts? And the girl, the Professor called her 'Miss Black'... was she related to Sirius somehow? According to what he knew about Sirius' family – the letters spoke little of that – she certainly had the attitude for it. The Defence classroom was different, but it was definitely the place. And finally Voldemort.

He looked younger than the apparition Harry remembered from the Chamber of Secrets. Or maybe it just seemed like it because Harry himself was older. And Voldemort _recognised_ him. He called him by his name... But if that really was a memory, why would Voldemort let him see it? What benefit would he gain from letting Harry learn more about him? Was this some trick? A ploy designed to do exactly what was happening – make him second-guess himself?

Then again, if Voldemort didn't show him the memory, then his reaction to seeing him there was... underwhelming.

 _"_ _What are you looking at, Potter?"_

Definitely not angry enough.

"What the _hell?"_ Harry snapped again. His blurry reflection offered no answer.

It felt like a memory, but… What if Voldemort didn't know that he saw it? He thought back to his last conversation with Dumbledore. According to the Headmaster, his and Voldemort's minds were linked – that's how he was able to see what Voldemort was doing last year. Voldemort didn't seem to know then that Harry was inside his head. Did the same thing happen just now?

If he could figure out how to do that consciously... maybe he could learn something useful about Voldemort. Know your enemy... That couldn't hurt, as long as Voldemort didn't catch him.

Should he inform Dumbledore though?

No. The last thing he wanted was having other people poke around in his head. Dumbledore would tell him to try to close the connection, not exploit it.

There was no use going back to bed – the sun was poking out from beneath the horizon and he wouldn't be able to fall asleep anyway. He had too much on his mind.

 _Maybe this whole thing is a hoax... Just a mind game. I won't even know when Voldemort works his way into my head._

Another possibility occurred to him later that day, but it seemed so implausible that he almost dismissed it out of hand.

Judging by several of the photos in the album Hagrid had given him, there had been quite a few Potters in Britain before Voldemort wiped them out. Was it possible that he'd somehow taken another Potter's place in the memory? At least one of them must have been at Hogwarts at the same time as Voldemort. He remembered wearing school robes when he was in that classroom, but every time he viewed a memory before, he had been wearing whatever he actually had on at the time.

Another obvious disparity was the fact that when he saw Tom Riddle confront Hagrid and watched the Death Eater trials, people inside the memory didn't notice his presence, but Voldemort in the Defence classroom did. It suggested that what he saw wasn't a memory at all, but if so, why did it seem like one?

The 'other Potter' theory seemed to make more sense the more he thought about it, even though it was only supported by a gut instinct. But how could he have unconsciously slipped into such a disguise? He had no idea how he even got there in the first place, wherever 'there' was.

His best guess was that it was a trap. And yet, he was considering going back there, if he could figure out how to do it.

It might not be a trap after all. In that case, he couldn't just throw away an opportunity like that, could he? If he were to find himself thrown into another memory, he might as well take a look around.

~~oOo~~

He turned a full circle, taking in his surroundings. It was a strange place. Neither a room, nor an open space. Standing still, he could hardly discern what was happening around him, but if he took a step in any direction, or reached out, everything shifted, transforming into something else, things he remembered from the past. Dursleys' front yard, where he'd spent hours tending to Petunia's rose bushes. Diagon Alley. The quidditch stadium. The Forbidden Forest. All within inches of each other, it seemed. Memories.

He honestly couldn't tell if he was dreaming or not. Logic suggested that yes, he was, but then logic seemed irrelevant here.

The one constant in all this was the door: simple, plain. He turned the knob and stepped over the threshold and suddenly lost the sense of up and down. Two walls, floor and ceiling, all the same, dull gray color. Was he standing on the floor? The ceiling? No. One of the walls? But was the floor to his left or his right?

He looked over his shoulder. His hand still rested on the doorknob and he could see the disjointed shapes on the other side. His gaze slid along the door frame, up and down. It seemed that he was standing on the floor after all.

He let go off the door and it slammed shut behind him and sunk into the wall. He touched it where the door had been, but the wall wouldn't budge. He could only go forward now. Except that...

He turned around, looking down the corridor. He couldn't see the far end – it disappeared in the distance as the confines of the long, narrow space blurred together. He glanced back – or did he? He was looking down the corridor again. Shouldn't there be another wall there - where the door had been?

He leaned against one of the walls, arms spread wide and looked right and left. They were mirror images of each other. He had stood at one of end of the corridor mere moments ago, but now he seemed to be somewhere else. He couldn't have moved without _noticing_ it, could he? Or maybe the wall just disappeared, like the door had.

It had been on his right, correct? So, he should go left. Forward. This corridor had to lead somewhere.

He tried to push off the wall, but he wasn't leaning against a wall. He was lying on the floor, with his legs propped up against the wall. Well, of course. He did lie down a minute ago, didn't he?

He stood up and started walking. But was he even moving? Everything around him looked the same. Had he been 'walking' in one place? How long was this damn corridor?

Walking didn't seem to accomplish much, so he started jogging along and finally broke into a sprint. He wasn't tiring. How was this possible? He wasn't even breathing hard. Hell, was he breathing at all? He felt no air rush past his face as he ran.

What was the point, anyway? It could all just be a stupid, confusing dream for all he knew and he'd wake up in a moment to the sound of Vernon's heavy footsteps threatening to collapse the staircase with every creak...

His back against the wall, he slid down to the floor and closed his eyes for a moment.

 _I need to get out of here._

He opened his eyes. The gray corridor looked the same. Almost.

There was a familiar door to his right. The same as the one he saw a minute – an hour – a year – prior. An identical door, in exactly the same spot. So, he hadn't even moved an inch. Or maybe he'd sat down on the other side of the corridor?

At least he had a way out.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open.

So it was a different door after all. This was definitely another place. At first glance, it looked like the swirling mass of memories he'd seen previously, but there was nothing even remotely familiar here. It all looked very uninviting but... he was curious.

Something glided into his view and landed gently at his feet. A torn out page. It must have come from an old book, the paper was yellow and the print faded. He examined the barely legible title written in blocky letters, almost runic in appearance. A spell?

 _I wonder what-_

~~oOo~~

Sunlight flickered on his glasses as he moved in and out of shadows, walking down the hall, past the tall windows. He nodded in greeting whenever someone greeted him with a friendly 'Hello, Potter'. It was embarrassing, but he couldn't remember any of their names. The sooner he was in the library, the better. Strangers likely wouldn't disturb him if he barricaded himself away with books. He had several tomes to return as well.

He glanced inside his bag to make sure they were all there. His eyes rested on a bundle of dark, glittering material. His Cloak. Yes, he always kept it close, just in case.

Someone entered his peripheral vision. Instinctively, he looked in that direction.

It was Riddle.

He frowned. Riddle wasn't carrying a bag, so what was he doing here? If he'd come to study, he would have brought something to take notes.

Harry slipped into a niche behind a suit of armor and watched Riddle stop at the librarian's desk. The Slytherin handed over a piece of parchment.

 _A note from a Professor, probably. Is he going to the Restricted Section?_

The note was apparently accepted, because Riddle received a key and disappeared between the shelves. Harry quickly threw the Cloak on and rushed towards the library, careful not to run into someone.

Riddle manoeuvred between other students, clearly heading towards the the back of the library, where the Restricted Section was located. He was one of few students whom the Professors trusted to be in the Restricted Section on their own. Usually it was necessary to specify what book one was interested in and the librarian retrieved it herself.

Riddle used the key to open the charmed door and slipped inside, closing it behind him. He wouldn't have locked it – that was against the rules even for star students. The ornamental gargoyle's head above the door would alert the librarian if an unauthorized student tried to get in. Fortunately, it couldn't see through the Cloak.

 _Please, please let the hinges be well-oiled..._

He cringed when the door creaked, and quickly opened it just enough to get inside. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Riddle staring straight at him.

But Riddle was staring _through_ him, at the door, now slightly ajar. Riddle's wand was suddenly in his hand and he jabbed it at the door, which closed again, before focusing his attention on the dusty tome in front of him.

Harry edged closer. Fortunately, the letters at the top of the page Riddle was studying were large enough that he could read them upside down.

CURSED FIRE, the letters spelled out.

 _Why, that doesn't sound ominous at all._

Eventually Riddle stepped away from the table and into one of the aisles, wand raised. Harry came still closer and stopped behind Riddle.

Was he going to cast the spell? 'Fire' was pretty self-explanatory. Fire in a library didn't sound like a good idea. _Cursed_ Fire sounded even worse, especially in the company of books of which some were cursed themselves. Riddle didn't seem worried.

Harry watched him go through the wand motions. He was barely doing anything. Harry turned back to the book and skimmed through the first few paragraphs.

 _That's not what it says here. He's doing it wrong._

Riddle wasn't deterred.

 _"Ignis Maledictus!"_

His wand spit out a flame. It looked like any other, except that normal fire, even magically conjured, didn't spontaneously take on the shape of a giant snake. Riddle abruptly ended the spell, however and the fiery construct dispersed into thin air.

Harry had just enough time to realise that he had mimicked Riddle's stance. His hand was raised, fingers poised as if he were holding a wand, even though he wasn't, and _he had said the incantation along with Riddle._ If the book mentioned it, he hadn't got to that part. He only read about the wand movements. How could he have know the right words?

Riddle's spell hurled him backwards. His back hit another bookshelf, the Cloak flew off.

Harry tried to blink away the black-and-purple splotches that dotted his vision as Riddle picked up the Cloak and walked up to him, looking down with that intense hatred.

"Potter," he growled.

Harry tried to get up, but Riddle flicked his wand and he couldn't move anymore.

"Didn't your parents teach you it's rude to spy on people?"

Harry really didn't want to find out what would happen next.

~~oOo~~

Like last time, the headache went away as quickly as it had come, though it felt like his skull would split in two when he woke up.

His throat was dry, so he made his way to the kitchen, not caring if the noise disturbed Vernon, and guzzled down a bottle of water.

He was almost certain now that he was viewing Voldemort's memories. Both came to an abrupt end in a similar fashion – Voldemort addressed him directly and then it dissolved into nothingness and he woke up with a terrible headache emanating from his scar. Everything else was different though.

In the classroom, he noticed much quicker that something wasn't right. In the library, he was entirely immersed. He couldn't be sure, but something told him it wasn't a good sign. He should have been more aware of what was happening, but he didn't even blink when a teenage Voldemort appeared, as if he actually went to school with him!

He was no closer to knowing if this was Voldemort's doing, but he actually _learned_ something this time.

Cursed Fire. The Living Flame. One of the most dangerous spells known, capable of destroying almost any substance, magical or not. Given enough time, it could even eat through goblin steel. The incantation...

"Ignis Maledictus," he whispered. These words caged power that few could hope to master. The book disappeared from the Hogwarts library soon after he found it-

 _No, after VOLDEMORT found it! Focus, damn it!_

"Fuck," he swore, leaning on the table. " _How_ do I know these things?"

Was he losing his mind? Did sane people learn things in their sleep, or in other bizarre, inexplicable ways? Was that why they went insane in the first place? Suddenly all those criminals they showed on TV claiming that 'a voice in their head made them do it' didn't seem so crazy.

Cursed Fire. Fiendfyre. He knew everything there was to know about it, and yet he'd never heard of it until he saw that book in Voldemort's memory. He even knew things that weren't in the book. He'd discussed them with Professor Merrythought. She had been happy to explain-

Harry froze. Then he hurled the empty plastic bottle through the kitchen. It bounced off a window.

"Stop it!" he hissed.

 _I didn't even know that woman existed until two days ago!_

And what was the gray corridor? It appeared as though it had led him from his own memories to Voldemort's.

He recalled what Dumbledore had told him, about why he could sometimes see what Voldemort was doing. Was the corridor the connection they shared? It made more sense than any of his other ideas. Perhaps there was a way to manipulate it?

At least he would have something to do while he was stuck here.

~~oOo~~

"How's Sirius doing?"

Tonks shrugged at that.

"Still not getting out much. At all, actually. Dumbledore insists it's too dangerous for him to leave the house."

"He can't be taking that too well," Harry said.

"He's not an indoors type," Tonks agreed. "He's been acting a bit off lately, although I'm not sure if it's because of this, or just that he's a Black."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Blacks have a reputation for being... quirky."

"You mean you're prone to insanity?"

Tonks pursed her lips. "Insanity is a very strong word. But I don't think there's been a Black in the last few centuries who didn't have some... interesting characteristic."

"Do I want to know?"

"Oh, it's nothing bad," Tonks said. "He's been spending a lot of time in the library recently. He locks himself inside and... well, that's all I know. Maybe he's just catching up on some reading. Or he could be summoning demons. Like I said, it's nothing to worry about. It's just a bit out of character for him."

Harry couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

"I think a lot of people would call demon summoning worrying."

"Oh, it's nothing," Tonks said, grinning. "Black have done it before."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Well, it only happened once, in the thirteenth century, if you believe the old journals... and it was a minor demon."

"Those journals... are they in the library?"

"As far as I know."

"You expect me to believe you didn't look?"

"It's the best protected room in the building. Only the Head of the Black family can get inside, and those he or she invites in. Sirius hasn't invited anyone. Not even Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore could probably break through the protections."

"I dunno. Maybe he thinks it would be impolite to force his way in."

"I'll bet there are a lot of rare books in there."

"And if I were a betting woman, you would win that one."

"Hermione must be tearing her hair out. All that precious knowledge, just outside her reach." He smiled fondly, imagining her frustration.

Tonks threw her head back and laughed. "You have no idea. Anyway, my shift is almost over. Don't want Dung to see me disobeying orders, so I should get going. Here you go." She handed him another letter from Sirius.

"Thanks. And I have one for him, too." He held out an envelope as well.

"I'll pass it on. Stay safe. Dung's not the best guard material."

As per their developed routine, they parted ways. Harry turned back towards Privet Drive while Tonks concealed herself. She would tail him back home until the guard shift at six.

Harry started towards Number Four at a leisurely pace, but didn't get very far. There was laughter and other, less discernible sounds coming from the direction of the nearby playground.

It all sounded rather familiar.

He quickened his pace and sure enough, Dudley and his friends were there, sharing a pack of cigarettes between them. Two younger boys were leaving, hands in their pockets and heads lowered. If Harry were to guess, Piers, Dudley's second in command, had just collected money for the group's recreational fund.

Harry had been secretly hoping to run into them all summer. He was itching for a fight. In Malfoy's absence, they would do just fine.

Before he took one more step, an invisible hand fell on his shoulder.

"I know what you want to do. It's not a good idea."

"I've told you about them. You don't think they deserve a lesson?" Harry hissed.

"Sure they do, but violence isn't always the best way to solve problems."

"It is in this case."

"Also, there are five of them."

Harry found Tonks' wrist and pried her hand off. "Then it's fortunate you're here to lend aid should I need it."

Tonks sighed. "At least be smart about it."

"Don't worry," he said, eyeing a discarded piece of pipe. "I will be."

Piers noticed him first. "Hey, D, look - it's the freak!" he hollered, prompting another round of laughter.

Harry just smiled. "Hello Dudley, Dudley's sidekicks."

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

"Will you look at that. The freak has learned to speak!" Piers said.

"Shut up," Dudley snapped. "Let's go."

"Whoa, D. What's gotten into you lately? First you let some loser get the better of you, and now your cousin is all cocky and you wanna leave?"

Harry guessed Piers was referring to the stitches holding Dudley's brow together. Of course Dudley wouldn't tell his friends it had been Harry's doing.

"Piers," Dudley said, "shut up, for your own good."

"Guys, my hearing mustn't be so good, because I just heard D say to leave the freak alone when he's looking for a fight."

"Why don't you stop running your mouth and step up yourself, then," Harry taunted.

Piers, who was taller and heavier than Harry, grinned and took off his jacket. "You've had this coming for a long time-"

Harry quickly ducked down, gathered a fistful of dirt and threw it in the other boy's face. While Piers was coughing and spitting, Harry grabbed the rusty pipe he'd spotted earlier and lunged forward.

The others watched in stunned silence as Harry pummeled Piers with his improvised weapon, landing blows on his opponent's legs, arms and stomach. Everything happened quickly and not a minute later he stood over Piers with the bloodied pipe in his hand.

"I can keep going. Any takers?"

The rest of Dudley's gang merely looked on, shock all but spelled out on their faces.

Harry threw the pipe away and turned on his heel.

"Don't let me catch you stealing again," he called over his shoulder. "I won't be so lenient next time."

~~oOo~~

Tonks fidgeted under Sirius's stare.

"I'm telling you," she said, "he's not okay. He's in bad shape."

"Didn't you just tell me that he spends his days beating the crap out of people?" Sirius asked, amused.

Tonks glared at him.

"He's fine physically. Getting better, if anything. But he's not right in the head. Either he's becoming psychotic or it's a really violent case of coping with trauma - only it's other people that experience the violence."

"So he's blowing off some steam," Sirius said, raising a hand in a gesture of dismissal. "One could argue he's doing remarkably well, considering what the trauma was."

"Sirius." Tonks seemed to be losing her patience. "I really don't care if he's turning his relatives into minced meat on a daily basis. I'm a Black too, you know. We were never big on morals."

Sirius grinned and tipped an invisible hat to her.

"But that sudden change is worrying. You told me he was a nice kid."

"I still think he is," Sirius said. "His letters are nice. And very shrewd."

"Nice kids don't start wrecking their bedrooms and people around them all of a sudden!"

"No matter," Sirius replied. "He'll be here soon enough. I'll keep him interested - and tired. He needs to learn to fight."

Tonks threw up her arms in frustration and turned to leave the room.

"You forgot something," Sirius reminded her.

She grabbed the envelope from him and stormed out. Sirius looked out of the window, a sly smile on his lips.

 _Go Harry._

~~oOo~~

Over the next several weeks it became clear to Harry that he wouldn't be able to control his random incursions into Voldemort's mind. The memories he saw were mostly centered around Voldemort's Hogwarts years. Sometimes, he caught a rare glimpse of his later life.

Headaches prevailed as well. Without outside help, he had no way of finding out just how he was learning through observing Voldemort. It was a burning question, but he decided against writing Sirius about it. He had no guarantee that Sirius could help him over distance and there was a chance that Dumbledore would find out. The last thing Harry wanted right now was for Albus Dumbledore to ask him questions about this.

The one element he gained some measure of control over was the corridor. He could now navigate it without much difficulty, although he still had no say in when he landed there. When he did, he stepped outside carefully, pulling small fragments from the mass of memories that lingered beyond the door.

Gradually, it became easier to identify matching fragments and he pulled them together, arranging images into scenes, attaching sounds and smells. He forged the elements into more memories. It was slow work, but rewarding. He wondered what Hermione would say if she knew he was, in a way, learning about magic from the most feared Dark Lord in history.

Voldemort's mind was a treasure trove of knowledge. As long as he didn't wander in too deep, he could safely access anything within his reach. It was his best chance to even the odds. According to Dumbledore, there were very few people alive skilled enough to survive an encounter with Voldemort – if they ran. Even fewer could challenge him to a duel and escape with their lives.

It didn't instill confidence. How was he expected to fight someone even Dumbledore was wary of? In a confrontation, magic would be his greatest weapon, so he sought out every tiniest bit of knowledge. He didn't dismiss anything, even the most mundane details.

Fighting Voldemort was a momentous task. He would succeed, or die trying.

August draw nearer and Harry expected he would be leaving Little Whinging shortly. The day couldn't come soon enough.

A week before his birthday, Tonks brought two letters, one from Sirius and one from Dumbledore; the trip would take place on the thirtieth. When asked why they couldn't just use a portkey or apparate, she explained that Voldemort most likely had spies in the Department of Magical Transportation. Using a traceable method of travel would give Death Eaters an idea where the headquarters was.

On his last morning at the Dursleys' Harry woke up in a considerably better mood than the day before. Leaving Privet Drive was always something to look forward to. Finally, he would be closer to the magical world and Sirius, who was proving to be an invaluable ally. Plotting by correspondence was too slow for Harry's liking.

Seeing as Sirius had essentially become a prisoner in his own home, Harry suspected that he himself wouldn't be allowed out either - Dumbledore would undoubtedly argue against such security risks – so he decided to take a long walk on his last summer afternoon in Little Whinging. By chance, he ran into Dudley on the outskirts of the town.

"How's your day been, Big D?" he asked idly.

"Oh... uh, hi. Okay, I guess."

"That's... nice." Harry suppressed a yawn. It was one of those lazy afternoons.

Out of pure boredom, he made small talk and found out that Dudley would be competing in an amateur boxing tournament in London.

"Good for you, Dudders. Let's hope you won't have to face off against anyone older than twelve, or-"

He stopped mid-sentence, feeling a sudden surge of cold. A familiar kind of cold. Eleven inches of holly were in his hand momentarily.

What were dementors doing in Little Whinging, of all places?

 _Stupid question,_ he chided himself. _They're looking for you, of course. Why else would they be here?_

New question then - _why_ were dementors looking for him?

"Dudley, go home." Truthfully, he wouldn't mind seeing his cousin turned into a human plant, but he'd rather not have to explain why he stood by and let it happen.

Dudley immediately began panicking. "Why is it suddenly so cold? What are you doing?"

"Nothing yet," Harry mumbled.

He twisted in place to face two dementors hovering a hundred feet away. He recalled the moment of cracking one of Petunia's porcelain plates on her son's head. It was definitely a happy memory.

" _Expecto Patronum,_ " Harry intoned the spell...

...and nothing happened.

 _That memory doesn't qualify? Oh well._

A month ago, he would have had to resort to running, or frantically trying to find another memory and hoping it was happy enough to call forth his patronus. Now, however, he was armed with a fraction of Voldemort's knowledge. And there was one thing that dementors had in common with inferi - they weren't fond of fire.

Harry raised his wand again.

 _"Incendio!"_

A torrent of flames surged from his wand. He willed the conjured inferno forward to meet the dementors head on. The hooded wraiths immediately whirled backwards, away from the fire. It bought him enough time to try conjuring his patronus again.

" _Expecto-_ "

Before he could finish the spell, the fire had dissipated enough that dementors could get through.

" _-Patronum!_ " he cried, recalling Sirius's successful escape from Hogwarts.  
Again, nothing. The dementors were right in front of him.

 _Fuck this._

 _"IGNIS MALEDICTUS!"_

Fiendfyre took on the form of a four-legged beast. The fiery construct charged the dementors, spitting fire. They fled again. Harry grinned in satisfaction. He'd wanted to try out this spell for weeks.

The dementors were nowhere in sight, having apparently left as suddenly as they had appeared. He tried dispelling the Fiendfyre, but it wasn't satisfied. The Cursed Flame never was. The instant the dementors flew away, the spell turned on him.

 _Oh, great._

Harry slashed with his wand, trying to dispel it, but the effect was minimal. Fiendfyre seemed to collapse in on itself, but then it expanded, spawning another lion-like shape, larger than the first one.

"POTTER!" Mad-Eye's voice boomed from beyond the flames, "DON'T LET UP!"

The Fiendfyre was so hot that Harry was instantly covered in sweat, despite the lingering chill the dementors had left behind. He swept his wand in a wide arc - the flames were forced back for a moment, but immediately renewed their assault.

Harry could hear Moody's voice from the other side of the inferno, urging him to keep throwing the fires away. Harry couldn't really do anything but that, so he jabbed and slashed with his wand, pushing the Fiendfyre back, but he grew tired quickly and each time that distance was shorter, or the fires managed to get closer before he raised his wand again.

He was sure that his face would get burned off - by his own spell, no less - when the wall of flames suddenly dispersed into smaller ones before dissipating completely, leaving no trace but an intense heat that hung in the air for a moment.

"What on Earth," Moody growled as he hobbled closer, "possessed you to do that? How do you even know that spell?"

"I picked it up along the way," Harry said defensively.

Moody's magical eye was spinning tirelessly, scanning their surroundings for any other threats.

"Picked it up, eh? That's not my thing anyway. Dumbledore can take it up with you if he wants to. Damn you, Potter! We're lucky there weren't any witnesses... well, apart from your- bloody hell!"

It seemed the dementors wouldn't be returning to Azkaban on empty stomachs. Dudley was slumped against the wall of a nearby building, motionless, except for the slight movement of his chest.

"Has he been Kissed?" Harry asked.

"Aye," the ex-Auror responded. "Nothin' to be done now. He's just a husk. Might as well be dead."

Harry looked at Dudley, feeling nothing. "What a pity. Truly terrible."

"It's no time for joking, lad. The Kiss is worse than death. Nobody deserves it."

"I disagree," Harry said. "I know some people who deserve it."

Their conversation was interrupted by an owl dropping an envelope into Harry's hands.

"It's from the Ministry," Harry said, recognising the symbol stamped into the wax seal. "Why, _of course."_


	3. CHAPTER ONE: Dissent, Part 1

**CHAPTER ONE: Dissent**

 **Part 1**

"Stay on your guard, Potter," Moody said gruffly. "You can read that later."

"I'll read it now," Harry snapped at him, tearing the envelope open.

 _Dear Mr. Potter,_

 _It has come to the attention of the Ministry of Magic that you have performed a Fire Charm, followed by a Spell of Cursed Fire, close to seven p.m. this afternoon, in the presence of a muggle. Since this is your second offense, you are hereby expelled from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 _Aurors will be arriving at your destination shortly to destroy your wand and detain you pending further investigation._

 _With respect,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk_

"Wonderful," Harry growled.

"What does it say?"

"I've been expelled from Hogwarts. They're sending Aurors to snap my wand," Harry said. "I'd like to see them try."

"Don't worry, lad. Dumbledore will straighten this out."

"Perhaps, but how long will it take?" Harry asked, shredding the letter. "Definitely longer than it'll take the Aurors to get here. Dumbledore's not welcome in the Ministry these days, is he?"

"How would you know?"

"I have the newspaper delivered."

He'd wanted to cancel his Prophet subscription a dozen times over the past month, but they still printed something interesting on rare occasion, so he didn't. Sirius had given him some advice on reading between the lines. It appeared that the Ministry was using their jokes about him to divert attention from pressing issues that seemed to grow more numerous by day.

His thoughts were interrupted by three consecutive pops of apparition.

"Harry Potter." The Aurors spotted him immediately. "You are under arrest for violation of the Statute of Secrecy and the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery."

Harry gave the three Aurors a spiteful look. "Sure. As soon as someone explains to me why I was attacked by dementors."

"Our orders are to snap your wand and take you in," the Auror in command argued. "Someone else will hear you out once you're in custody."

"So you don't care that there are dementors on the loose, hundreds of miles away from Azkaban?" Moody asked suspiciously.

"Sir, with all due respect-"

"How about a deal?" Harry asked suddenly.

"There will be no _dealing_ , Potter. Now relinquish your wand!"

Harry twirled the holly wand in his fingers. It wouldn't work against Voldemort – brother wands wouldn't fight each other. Still, it had served him well so far and he certainly didn't want to see it destroyed.

"I'll give you my wand and you can take me into custody-"

"Potter, what do you think you're doing?" Moody interrupted.

"You can take me in," Harry repeated. "All I'm asking is that you refrain from destroying my wand until it's explained why dementors, who are supposedly controlled by the Ministry, were here to take my soul."

"The dementors remain firmly under ministerial control, Potter."

"Then someone in the Ministry sent two of them to _silence_ me," Harry said. "Rather worrying, don't you think, that the government would use them to attack people."

"You claim there were dementors here," the Auror said, keeping his wand aimed at Harry, "but do you have proof?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "How about my soulless cousin?"

~~oOo~~

"He did what?" Sirius exclaimed in indignation. "What do you mean Harry _let_ himself be taken away by the Aurors?"

"Sirius, now is not the time to panic," Dumbledore pleaded. "Keep your temper. Harry was taken into custody, but his wand is intact. I was trying to persuade the Minister to drop the charges and rescind the arrest order when young Percy Weasley came in, saying that Harry had just been escorted to a DMLE holding cell."

"But- arrested for underage magic?" Arthur Weasley asked. "The Statute allows for use of magic by minors in self-defense and if dementors-"

"That was one of the things I pointed out to Cornelius. My influence in the Ministry has been greatly lessened in recent weeks and I wasn't able to accomplish much. I was, however, allowed to talk to Harry, albeit briefly."

"What did he say?" Sirius demanded.

"The good news is that there is indisputable proof of the dementors' presence in Little Whinging, which bolsters Harry's case. Unfortunately, the proof in question is, quite literally, Harry's cousin, Dudley. He has been Kissed."

The room was cast into silence as the Order took it all in.

"How's Harry taking taking it?" Sirius asked. "I mean, he wasn't fond of his relatives, but they are still his family-"

"He expressed regret at Dudley's undeserved fate," Dumbledore said somberly.

"What should we do?" someone asked.

Dumbledore's eyes flickered with the tiniest twinkle.

"On that account, Harry requested that he be allowed to deal with the matter himself. He told me of his plans and his reasoning is sound."

"What?" Sirius shrieked. "I wrote him about how the Wizengamot works, but he's nowhere near ready-" he stopped in mid-sentence as all the eyes in the room focused on him.

"Is there something you wish to tell us, Sirius?" the Headmaster asked.

"I- well… No. Let's move on."

"From the way Potter talked to those Aurors, I'd say the lad has a good head on his shoulders," said Moody. "For a kid, that is."

"Hey, didn't they ask what you were doing there?" Tonks asked him curiously.

Moody snorted. "They did."

~~oOo~~

The Aurors quickly examined Dudley's body.

"Merlin," the leader whispered. "Blasted soul-suckers... Well, Mr. Potter, it looks like you were telling the truth. Your cousin bears all the marks of a recent Kiss victim. On that note... I'm afraid his body won't last very long. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Harry said dryly.

"We need more people on this," the commanding Auror decided. "Grayson, go back to the Ministry and get one more team here. And request an obliviation squad too - there might have been other witnesses. Sir." He turned to Moody. "May I inquire as to your presence here?"

"Potter's father fought beside me in the last war. Thought I'd drop by and share some stories."

"Really?" the Auror asked sceptically.

"Really," Moody repeated, leveling his heavy gaze at the younger man.

The Auror fidgeted under Moody's stare. "Fine," he said at last. "You may be called on as a witness in the investigation. Thank you for your cooperation, sir."

"Meaning, piss off, you old fart," Moody grumbled. "Think I'll stay here, just in case those damn wraiths come back."

The Auror blinked once, twice and shook his head in resignation. "Of course, we welcome your assistance. As for you, Mr. Potter, I have orders, and those orders say I have to snap your wand."

Harry's gaze hardened as he assumed a defensive stance.

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to resist arrest."

~~oOo~~

"Oh, I wish I could have seen that," Sirius said, grinning.

"That... doesn't quite sound like Harry," Mrs. Weasley said quietly.

"Dropped by to share stories? Seriously?" Tonks asked incredulously. "And they _bought_ that?"

Sirius laughed. "More like they didn't have the balls not to buy it."

~~oOo~~

Not long after the steel door of his cell closed behind Dumbledore, Harry's musings were interrupted again - this time by a large, bald, dark-skinned man.

The Auror flicked his wand, conjuring a small table in the middle of the room, followed by two chairs. He gestured for Harry to sit down.

"Mr. Potter," the Auror began, "my name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I'm an Auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and will be conducting your interrogation."

"I have already been questioned," Harry said. "My answers have not changed in the past thirty minutes."

"The interrogation that took place at the scene was unofficial. Yes, your answers have been included in the preliminary report which I have read prior to coming here. I'm just following procedure."

"Very well. Ask your questions, Auror."

"You are not in charge here, Mr. Potter," the man said, in a polite but firm tone.

"Of course. You are. My apologies."

If Shacklebolt noticed the sarcasm, he paid it no mind.

"Mr. Potter." He cleared his throat. "Around seven p.m. this afternoon, you cast two spells. Specifically the Fire Charm and then the Spell of Cursed Fire. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Are you aware that as a minor, you are forbidden from using magic outside Hogwarts until you come of age?"

"I am."

"Then you're aware that your actions today were in direct violation of the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery?"

"Yes."

"And are you aware that due to the presence of a muggle, you were also acting in violation of the International Statute of Secrecy?"

Harry's lip twitched. "Yes."

"Now, can you tell me why you chose to use magic outside of school, thus breaking the law, despite knowing of the illegality of your actions?"

"I was fending off dementors."

Kingsley's face tensed. "Yes, dementors. The preliminary report mentioned that." He paused. "It also specified that the muggle witness was unfortunately Kissed. If nothing else, it confirms your story."

Harry stayed silent.

"Mr. Potter, do you know what spell is known to be most effective against dementors?"

"The Patronus Charm."

"Are you capable of casting it?"

That question was one that Harry didn't have an automatic answer to. He could, of course, say that yes, he was - he'd done it before, with spectacular results, one might say. But today was different. He suspected it might have been simply that he hadn't used the right memory and yet... he had felt nothing when he tried to summon his patronus. No surge of magic like it should have happened, even when the spell failed.

 _Eh, no reason to complicate things further._

"Yes."

"Why didn't you use it?"

"I did."

"The Trace didn't pick up a Patronus Charm."

"I wasn't aware the Trace was so accurate." In truth, he had no idea how the Trace worked or even what it was, exactly - but the Auror didn't know that.

"That is irrelevant. As I said, we detected no Patronus Charm cast in Little Whinging at any time today."

"I tried casting it. The spell failed. It happens sometimes."

"Why didn't you try again?"

 _You're going to have to do better than that._

"I was a little out of time, Auror Shacklebolt. There were two soul-sucking flying zombies practically right in front of my face."

"So you used fire."

"Obviously," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"How did you know?"

"Excuse me, but how is _this_ relevant?" Harry growled.

"Just answer the question, Mr. Potter," the Auror insisted.

Harry stared. Shacklebolt stared back.

"My third year Defense teacher once gave a lecture about the common methods of dealing with dementors."

"Did your Fire Charm manage to repel the dementors?"

"Yes, temporarily."

"So it didn't fail?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. What was this man fishing for?

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if it had."

"Then if the Fire Charm was effective, why did you use Fiendfyre next?"

"The dementors were still coming after me. Fiendfyre is more powerful than the Fire Charm."

"It's also very difficult to control, beyond the ability of most wizards or witches. Certainly beyond the ability of a fifteen-year old."

 _Oh, you did_ not _just go there._

"Is this a criminal interrogation or an assessment of my skills?" Harry asked icily. "Are you planning on recruiting me?"

"No, Mr. Potter, but-"

"Good. My aspirations run higher than a mere Auror anyway."

Shacklebolt took a deep, calming breath. "Are you aware that the Spell of Cursed Fire was classified as Dark by the Ministry?"

"I am now. Is it illegal?"

"It's Dark magic, Mr. Potter," the Auror reiterated.

"I heard you. But is it illegal?"

"All Dark magic is frowned upon and its use by a minor is extremely troubling."

"You're evading the question, Auror Shacklebolt."

"You are not here to ask questions, Mr. Potter, but to answer them."

 _Well... point for the Auror._

"Alright. Do you have any more questions?"

"Not at this time."

Shacklebolt stood up and so did Harry. The Auror then dispelled the conjured furniture.

"I am to inform you that in light of verifiable evidence of the dementors' presence, it is acknowledged that your actions fall under the Self Defense Clause of the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery and as such you weren't in violation of that particular law."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"However, you still acted against the Statute of Secrecy."

"Debatable."

"You can take that up with the Wizengamot during your trial. I am also to tell you that the orders for your immediate expulsion from Hogwarts and the snapping of your wand have both been temporarily revoked and their execution or annulment will be decided in due course of your trial."

"Do I have a court date, perhaps?"

"You do. Tomorrow morning."

~~oOo~~

The Dark Lord's eyes settled heavily on the Malfoy patriarch. Voldemort scrutinised his servant, looking for signs of falseness, but there were none. Malfoy was telling him the truth.

"So... Harry Potter was apprehended by the Ministry... On what charges?"

"Underage magic, my lord," Lucius said quickly. "And I was told there was a muggle witness. Fudge is building his case upon the Statute of Secrecy-"

"But why did Potter feel he had to use magic in the first place?"

"Dementors," Lucius explained. "Apparently there is evidence to support his claim, but Fudge will try to blow over it in court. At this time he just wants to destroy Potter's credibility."

"This is a lost cause," Voldemort said. "Potter has Dumbledore on his side and while the old fool's influence has been blunted, it has not been eliminated."

"I've tried telling Fudge as much, my lord, but he won't listen. He hasn't been willing to listen to my advice as of late... He wants both Potter and Dumbledore discredited and he believes this case is his chance to accomplish that."

"Fudge is going to lose. It shall be your responsibility to mitigate any damage, Lucius."

"I understand, my lord."

"I need your puppet Minister in a strong position until we are ready to implement our own candidate. However, there is a positive side to this... for it ensures that Dumbledore will be distracted - perhaps too distracted to pay close attention to Potter himself, at least for a short time," the Voldemort mused. "And that is an opportunity I shall not let go to waste... Anything else, Lucius?"

"Fudge wants to convene the Wizengamot to try Potter."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed in anger.

"With the way Fudge is acting, he is going to discredit himself before anyone else," he growled. "We may need to accelerate our plans... Mulciber, what of Azkaban?"

"The have not upgraded security measures in years," the other Death Eater reported. "There is only a base garrison of twenty Aurors present at all times, mostly rookies... Common opinion in the Department is that a few months on guard duty in Azkaban helps toughen up the fresh meat. The Ministry relies on dementors to do the actual guarding. Aurors only do rounds around the lower levels. We can attack at any time."

"You have done well, Mulciber. You may leave."

The tall Death Eater bowed and left the room, leaving Lucius alone with Voldemort.

"If Potter will indeed be tried before the Wizengamot, I want you present at that trial, Lucius - and I shall expect a full report. There is little chance of Fudge winning, but if that should miraculously happen, I will need to know as soon as possible."

"Of course, my lord."

"You are dismissed."

Malfoy bowed, even lower than Mulciber, and quickly exited, leaving Voldemort to his thoughts.

 _Harry Potter... You have shown more competence than one could expect from a child... But we shall see how you fare when faced with a_ real _challenge._

~~oOo~~

The Head Auror flipped through the thin file rapidly.

"You want my opinion on this, Amelia?" he asked his superior.

"Yes, Rufus."

"There's nothing in here," Scrimgeour declared, throwing the folder back on the desk. "We've already admitted that the Decree for Restrictions doesn't apply and any case build solely upon the Statute will be shoddy at best. The worst we've done to people in breach of it was giving them a fine. Bringing this before the Wizengamot will make Fudge a laughing stock. But you didn't need me to tell you that, Amelia. You knew it before I even got here."

"That's true," she said. "I was just hoping that a trained Auror could offer some unusual insight. Something I might have missed."

"We both know criminal law forwards and backwards. There is no insight to be had. The Minister is trying to build a case when there isn't one. Personally, I think this is just his paranoia acting up. And the interrogation was-"

"You don't need to tell me." Amelia sighed with frustration. "Shacklebolt was specifically requested for it. Then that cow Umbridge gave him a list of questions to ask. She wants to exaggerate the fact that Potter used Dark magic, but who doesn't know a few questionable spells? Fiendfyre is dangerous, but not restricted. And barely legal is still legal."

"Indeed. In short," Scrimgeour added, "they can't touch Potter. Truth is, Fudge would stand a better chance of getting a conviction if he agreed to have this handled by the Department, but he's dragging the boy in front of the Wizengamot - for underage magic! Anyone associated with this case is in for a smear on their record."

"Yes, thank you, Rufus," Amelia said, gritting her teeth. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."

Scrimgeour raised his eyebrows. "Are you..."

"I'm prosecuting."

"Then you have my sympathies. But look on the bright side - with the Prophet pandering to Fudge, it won't get out of the Ministry."

"Wonderful." Amelia snorted. "Makes me feel a little less miserable."

~~oOo~~

After a night spent in the cell, Harry was hardly in the mood to face a panel of judges. He'd had enough of the Prophet mocking him this summer and the trial was the perfect setting for him to strike back.

His watch indicated seven forty-five when a pair of Aurors came in and cuffed his hands behind his back before escorting him out of the cell. The large black man from the day before wasn't one of them.

He was led through a series of corridors into a tiny room - even smaller than the cell - with only one chair in it. Not an ordinary chair, however. This one was made entirely of matte black metal; heavy chains hung from its sides. He was released from the handcuffs and ordered to sit down. As soon as he did, the chains came alive, binding him tightly to the chair. He felt a nauseating sensation when the bonds snapped into place, as if his magic was being dulled out somehow.

"The magic inhibitors are working," he heard one of the Aurors mutter.

"Everything is ready. Let's go."

As soon as the door shut behind them, there was a deep rumble - and the segment of the floor upon which the chair stood started moving upwards into... a cage?

~~oOo~~

Lucius watched, his face blank, as Potter, chained down more securely than a hardened criminal, was lifted into the cage in the center of the chamber. He wanted to walk up to Fudge and shake this ridiculous paranoia out of him. Not that it was unfounded, but it interfered in the Dark Lord's plans.

Potter had been slandered regularly in the Prophet, but that made him more of a running joke than a public enemy. Fudge himself wasn't sure how to have his main propaganda tool portray the boy - as a victim of Dumbledore's manipulation or an accomplice to his schemes. Because of that uncertainty, many tended to ignore the Ministry's ramblings more and more as time went - and that was _undesirable._

Fudge was continuing the trend initiated by Skeeter's articles from spring, but with that gossip hag gone - where was she anyway when actually needed? - he was doing a poor job of it. Right now he wanted everyone to see Potter as a criminal. Lucius couldn't count how many times he'd bribed Hopkirk after Draco had had an 'accident' outside the safety of Malfoy Manor. According to the law - which desperately needed updating to more modern standards - his son should have gone to Azkaban a long time ago for breaking the Statute of Secrecy repeatedly.

Caged and in chains, Potter would garner public sympathy rather than contempt. This truly was a lost cause and he would have to deal with the consequences of Fudge's stupidity, because of course that idiot would run to 'his dear friend Lucius' for advice once his popularity started to plummet over this farce.

Lucius barely kept himself from groaning in frustration. The Dark Lord wasn't going to like this.

~~oOo~~

Harry needed every ounce of his willpower to remain aware of what was happening around him. He'd become so adjusted to the flow of magic through his body in the past few years that when it was suddenly blocked, it felt exceedingly unpleasant.

"The disciplinary hearing of thirty-first July of Harry James Potter of Privet Drive Four, Little Whinging, Surrey, brought in on charges of illegal use of Dark magic and violation of the International Statute of Secrecy."

Harry recognized the voice of Cornelius Fudge and looked up to where it was coming from.

The Minister sat surrounded by warlocks of the Wizengamot, wearing a scowling grimace. Below him sat a familiar figure, focused on the Dicta-Quill dancing across the parchment.

 _What in hell is Percy doing here?_

"...prosecutor, Madam Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones. The accused..." Here Fudge glared at Harry. "...is present. Now, let's make this quick. I have no time to waste on criminals. Mr. Potter!"

Harry blinked and reminded himself to breathe steadily. "Yes?"

"Do you deny that yesterday, at approximately seven o'clock in the afternoon, you used Fiendfyre in the presence of a muggle, thus breaking a number of laws, including international law?"

"No."

"And you performed this Dark magic knowingly and in full awareness of the illegality of your actions?"

"Yes."

Fudge looked around with a righteous expression on his face. "Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, the case is clear. I call for a vote-"

"Not so fast," Harry interrupted.

"Excuse me, Potter?" Fudge snapped. "Did you say something?"

"Where's my legal counsel? Aren't I entitled to an attorney?"

There was a murmur of consent among the warlocks. Harry thought fast what his next words should be, before Fudge had a chance to recover.

"Well, in the absence of one, I'll be my own defender. I would like to present my own version of the events-"

"Your testimony was already taken-"

"And were the members of this court made aware of its contents?" Harry demanded loudly. Fudge was glaring daggers at him.

"I don't have all day to spend on this case, Mr. Potter!"

"Neither do I, so let's move it along, shall we?" Harry retorted. "I used Fiendfyre to drive off dementors. And before someone asks," he added, seeing a few warlocks rising from their seats, "yes, I can perform the Patronus Charm. But it doesn't always work! So I used the next best thing."

"Blatantly boasting about practicing Dark magic-"

"I think when faced with dementors, the very real possibility of having your soul sucked out takes precedence before not using powerful magic in self-defense," Harry said venomously.

"Perhaps," Fudge said, "but there is still the issue of the muggle witness, Potter!"

"The muggle witness? You mean my cousin who was Kissed, right?"

Harry could almost feel the atmosphere of hostility switch from him to Fudge.

"I wasn't informed-" Fudge sputtered.

"Oh come on!" Harry exclaimed. "You're the _Minister for Magic_ and you _weren't informed?"_

"When you said it was your cousin, Mr. Potter," a new voice rose above the commotion, "did you mean that this person knew of your being a wizard prior to the... prior to yesterday?"

"It would be kind of hard to hide it, considering we lived under one roof," Harry said.

"Minister," Amelia Bones said slowly, "this is a significant piece of information. Family members knowledgeable of our world are excluded from the muggle witness status of the Statute."

"Does it matter, Amelia?" Fudge argued. "The boy still used Dark magic, we can't just let that slide-"

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" The woman's voice could cut steel. "As the prosecutor, I should have been told about all the details of this case."

"I have one more question," Harry interjected. Amelia Bones' gaze snapped to him immediately.

"More revelations, Mr. Potter?"

"That depends. Why were there two dementors in Little Whinging yesterday? Aren't they confined to Azkaban, unless ordered otherwise by the Ministry?"

"This is not about what dementors do or don't, Potter-" Fudge began, but was immediately cut off by Harry.

"I would like to know what grave offense I have committed that someone felt sending them after me was justified."

The courtroom fell into silence.

"It's an interesting question, isn't it? I mean-"

 _"_ _Hem hem."_

All heads turned to a plump witch with a face that could be mistaken for a toad.

"I must have misunderstood you, Mr. Potter."

"Oh? Please clarify."

"The dementors are controlled by the Ministry of Magic. Are you suggesting that someone in the Ministry dispatched two of them to apprehend you?"

"I wouldn't say they were trying to _apprehend_ me."

"Because I think that if someone did send two dementors to Little Whinging, then there would be an appropriate notification in the relevant documents."

"There isn't one?" Harry asked mockingly. "Well, the other possibility is that dementors aren't under the Ministry's control anymore."

There were several audible gasps. "Preposterous!" someone shouted. "Azkaban is secure!"

"As much as Mr. Potter's words worry me," Amelia Bones interrupted, "the Minister is right. This isn't about dementors, but about justice for Mr. Potter."

"Well, Amelia?" Fudge glared at her. _"_ _Will_ there be justice?"

"Certainly. The evidence points to your guilt, young man," she said, looking straight at Harry.

 _What?_ he thought. _She can't be serious!_

"You used a highly dangerous spell, potentially endangering yourself and others. For that, you are penalized with a fine of five hundred galleons."

"Now, the vote-"

"No need, Minister," Amelia said coolly. "Mr. Potter's actions clearly fall under the Self Defense clause of the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery. And since the muggle witness was a family member, there was no violation of the Statute of Secrecy."

"There might have been other witnesses."

"According to the report I received yesterday, there were none. Under the circumstances, prosecution finds Mr. Potter guilty of recklessly casting a dangerous spell for which a fine was already issued. Five hundred galleons, payable to one of the Ministry's Gringotts accounts within a week. Prosecution rescinds the other charges against Mr. Potter."

Fudge must have understood that he was beaten. He struck his desk with the gavel with considerably more force than was necessary. "Case closed. The court may disassemble. Aurors... please release Mr. Potter and escort him out."

The chair then sunk back below the court chamber and the moment it hit the floor in the tiny space below, the chains fell down, restoring the blissful feeling of magic coursing through Harry's body.

He took a deep breath. "Never again. Not this."

"Mr. Potter," one of the Auror guards began, "we will-"

"Escort me out, yes, excellent," Harry said. "I would have my wand back."

"Erm, I-"

 _"_ _Now."_

"I don't have it on me," the Auror said quickly. "It will be returned to you when we pass the security checkpoint."

Harry pushed past the man, shoving him aside. Looking around, he spotted what looked like a lift to his right.

"Is that the way out?" he snapped at the other Auror irritably.

"Yes. Follow me, Mr. Potter."

Within seconds, they were in the lift moving upward and within minutes, back in the lavishly decorated atrium of the Ministry of Magic. At the security checkpoint, Harry snatched his wand from the nervous clerk's hands.

"We have orders to escort you to your residence," one of the Aurors said.

"Just take me where you found me yesterday, thanks," Harry said. "You were one of those who arrested me, right?"

The young Auror nodded. "I can take it from here, sir," he told his superior. "I'll take Mr. Potter back to Little Whinging."

"Very well. Just make it quick."

Not long after, Harry was back at the deserted playground. The Auror looked uncomfortable.

"You know, if you have a question, you can just ask," Harry said. "I don't guarantee an answer though."

"Not a question... I'm just very sorry for your loss. It must be awful-"

"Loss? What loss? I won, didn't I?"

"Uh, I meant your cousin."

Harry blinked rapidly in surprise. _I completely forgot._ "Oh yes, my... cousin. Well, I'm sure he's… in a better place now."

 _Vernon and Petunia must already know. I wonder how they took it._

"Well, I'll be going, then," the Auror said with a nod at Harry.

Harry stopped him. "Wait. What's your name?"

He clearly did not expect that. "Dell Grayson, Auror-in-training."

 _I'll remember that, Auror-in-training Grayson._ "Was just curious. Have a nice day."

"You too, Mr. Potter. And again, I'm very sorry."

Grayson's robes swirled around him and he disapparated with a crack. Harry turned on his heel as well, facing the general direction of Privet Drive.

~~oOo~~

"I will not tolerate insubordination from anyone in the Ministry, Amelia!" Fudge roared. "Especially in DMLE! We need to present a united front if we're to make it through the crisis!"

"What crisis, Minister?" Bones asked sceptically. "Do you mean your completely baseless claim that Dumbledore desires your job?"

"How dare you!" Fudge sputtered in rage, his bowler hat flying next to her head and flopping against the wall. "I have done what I must to protect this country from Dumbledore's machinations!"

"Anything you have done since taking up the office was to preserve your position, Cornelius!" Amelia said. "You _disgust_ me."

"Is this how it's going to be?" The Minister's face reddened. "In that case, I shall expect your resignation on my desk tomorrow morning. You can clear out your office. Rufus, you will take over the Department," Fudge snapped at the man in the corner.

"And what about the Auror Office?" Scrimgeour asked. "Besides, I don't think this is a decision to be made hastily, Cor-"

"Shacklebolt," Fudge interrupted. "He's competent, isn't he? And loyal to the Ministry. He's earned this promotion, in any case."

"I shall take that as my cue to leave," Amelia said coolly. "Good day to you, _Minister._ Rufus." She nodded at her colleague. "Good luck with your new job."

When the door clicked shut behind her, the Minister flew into a spitting rage again.

"Who does she think she is!" he erupted. "I am the Minister for Magic, the leader of this country and she dares-"

"You might have misinterpreted her words, but it's too late now," Rufus commented. "And in all honesty, I'm inclined to agree with her on this one."

"What?"

"Listen, Cornelius!" Scrimgeour urged. "She might have gone against you, but it doesn't make her wrong! You should have given her _all_ the details. And whose idea was it to bring Potter in for trial on charges of underage magic in front of the full Wizengamot? I know you're smarter than this!"

"Dolores suggested it."

"I should have known," Scrimgeour growled. "That woman is a menace, Cornelius, I always said that. You should be kicking _her_ out flat on her face, not Amelia!"

"She build the case against Potter!" the Minister argued. "It was the perfect opportunity to silence him, but no, Amelia had to be _righteous_ -"

"You had no case! It was just a random occurrence, not a golden opportunity! And now you have handed yourself to the Prophet on a silver platter."

"I'll block anything they cook up," Fudge said immediately. "The Prophet-"

"The Prophet is still part of the free media. You can only use it for your propaganda campaign for so long. Don't fool yourself - this will get out and your reputation _will_ suffer."

"What was I supposed to do then, Rufus?" Fudge demanded.

Scrimgeour didn't immediately answer. Personally, he disagreed with Fudge on most things, but he wasn't going to antagonise the man, not now, when he had just been given the Directorship.

"I don't know, Cornelius. You are the Minister, aren't you?"

There was a characteristic 'ping' sound. The Minister turned to his desk and pressed a golden button on the tabletop.

"Yes?"

"Minister, Chief Unspeakable Croaker is here with the report you requested."

"Send him in."

The door opened, revealing a man with neatly groomed gray hair, clad in the nondescript black robes of an Unspeakable.

"Minister. Rufus," he said in greeting.

"Algernon, fancy seeing you here. You're paler than a vampire. Do you go outside at all?" Scrimgeour asked.

"I do, on holidays."

"Algernon, you don't celebrate holidays."

"And that's how often I get out," Croaker said dismissively. "The pulse was nothing unusual, Minister... well, the fact that it came from the boy may seem unusual, but-"

"What's this about?" Scrimgeour asked.

"When Potter's trial ended, there was a surge of magic," Fudge explained quickly. "It looked suspicious, so I had it looked into."

"Like I said, nothing sinister. Just the regular reaction from a person being released from the magic-inhibiting chains."

Fudge's eyes went wide like sickles. "I have been present dozens of times when prisoners were released and I have never felt something like this before!"

"Potter didn't spend much time in that chair, but more than enough for his magic to become stifled. So, when he was released from the chains, his magic was as well."

"Impossible! That would mean-"

"That this boy is a powerful one indeed. Hardly an anomaly, however. Exceptionally magically powerful people emerge from time to time. That's where wizards like Dumbledore come from," Croaker explained, completely unfazed.

"And this doesn't concern you?" Fudge asked.

"Minister, with all due respect, I work with more powerful and sinister magics daily. Will that be all? I'd prefer to get back to work, if you don't mind..."

"Yes, Algernon, thank you."

Once the door closed shut behind the Unspeakable, Fudge gave his subordinate a frightful look. "Rufus," he began, "I really don't need _another_ Dumbledore right now."

Scrimgeour didn't have a simple answer for the man he was quite close to despising.

 _Perhaps you don't... but this country could use someone to give it a shake._

~~oOo~~

Harry opened the front door to find Privet Drive Four eerily silent. He walked down the hallway, looking around, until he got to the kitchen. Dumbledore was there, sitting at the table with a cup of tea.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Professor," Harry replied, stifling a yawn. He hadn't got much sleep the previous night. No matter how hard he had tried, he couldn't find it in himself to fall asleep in the uncomfortable cell in the middle of what was, as far as he was concerned, enemy territory. "How has your summer been so far?"

"Busy," Dumbledore answered. "I trust you didn't waste time yourself."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said.

"I'm afraid both our schedules are bound to get even busier."

"So that means I'm leaving? At last."

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke softly, "I regret to inform you that your cousin's body has given out earlier today. He passed away."

He almost fired off some cutting remark, but now that he was back here, the strangeness of this was a lot harder to trivialise. Dudley was dead. As much as he despised his family,the weight of Dumbledore's words brought on a kind of solemnity.

"I understand there is no lost love between you and your family-"

 _"Right."_

"-but I'm afraid that if you want to pay your respects, it shall have to wait until the funeral. You will be exceedingly busy for the next few days."

"Where are Vernon and Petunia anyway?"

"They are currently at a funeral home," Dumbledore explained, "arranging the burial ceremony."

They fell into a brief silence, Harry coming to terms with the reality of Dudley being dead. Fortunately, it was easy enough to do. No great loss. "If at all possible, Headmaster, I'd rather not stay here any longer than it's absolutely necessary, so if you'll excuse me, I'll go pack."

"I've taken care of it," the Headmaster, flicking his wand and Harry's trunk floated up from behind the table. "Now, we really must go. But of course I have informed your friends to give you time to mourn your cousin."

"Professor," Harry said, his expression hardened. "I'm entirely certain you know exactly what my life here was like before this summer. Dursleys are not worth talking about, so please, don't."

"Harry," the Headmaster said quietly. "For what it's worth... I'm very sorry for what you had to endure. And I'm very proud of you that you did."

"Let's just go."

"As you wish." Dumbledore finished his tea and stood up. "Read this and remember."

Harry caught the piece of parchment the Headmaster sent his way. "The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Grimmauld Place Twelve," he recited. "Is that place really as grim as Sirius claims?"

Dumbledore's eyes glinted with understanding. "Ah, yes. Sirius mentioned you've been corresponding."

"Yes, he wrote me what was going on." 'Which you didn't want to happen' was left unsaid, but his tone spoke for itself. Dumbledore didn't comment on it.

"If you would take my arm."

"I thought we couldn't use trackable methods of transport."

Dumbledore smiled and winked. "Being me has its advantages. Take my arm, Harry."

Harry did and the world dissolved into a myriad of colors.


	4. CHAPTER ONE: Dissent, Part 2

**CHAPTER ONE: Dissent**

 **Part 2**

Harry's shoes hit grass.

"Does apparition always feel like this?" he asked irritably.

"Only the first few dozen times," Dumbledore said with a small chuckle.

"Bloody brilliant," Harry muttered under his breath. "Where are we anyway?"

"In the backyard. It's within the range of the Fidelius Charm and makes for an excellent apparition point."

The Headmaster pointed to a door. "This is the rear entrance. The kitchen should still be empty, at least for a few more minutes, so we shall have a moment of undisturbed privacy." His blue eyes found Harry's. "I would like to talk, if that's alright with you."

Harry weighed his options. Dumbledore would likely ask how he learned about Fiendfyre and he'd rather not say. He wasn't really in a position to refuse, however, and who knew - he might learn something as well.

"I don't see why not."

They entered the long, narrow kitchen. Dumbledore swished and flicked his wand and two steaming mugs of chocolate landed in front of them. Harry took a sip from his.

"Thank you, sir." He drummed his fingers on the table. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Firstly, I want you to know that I was truly impressed by how you handled yourself in court today."

Harry raised a curious eyebrow. "I didn't see you there."

"I was sitting in the higher rows," Dumbledore explained. "Your attention was focused elsewhere. They may have replaced me as a Chief Warlock, but I still have a place in the Wizengamot and that is not something even Minister Fudge can easily take away. I came straight to Little Whinging afterwards."

"Why not meet me in the Ministry?"

"I wanted to avoid causing a scene," the Headmaster replied.

"Makes sense," Harry agreed. "But you didn't just want to congratulate me on winning a trial that I had a very slim chance of losing."

The twinkle in the blue eyes faltered slightly. "That's true," Dumbledore said. "You have become more perceptive recently."

"A lot of things have changed recently," Harry said.

"And that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I can't help but notice that you haven't been replying to your friends' letters."

Harry stiffened for a moment. True, he received letters from Hermione, Ron, even two from Ginny, but he'd been too focused on the ones from Sirius and Voldemort's memories to pay them much attention.

"I was busy. This is between me and them."

"I don't wish to meddle in your relationships with friends, Harry. I would merely caution you not to throw away what few friendships you have," the Headmaster said thoughtfully.

"I'm not throwing anything away, sir," said Harry. "And I still don't think that's the reason behind this conversation."

"Very well." Dumbledore looked at him over his mug. "I cannot help but wonder at your knowledge of rather advanced and dangerous magic."

 _And there it is._

"I'm not going to make up some half-baked lie, Professor," Harry said, setting his mug of chocolate on the table a bit too forcefully. "You'd see through it right away. But I'm not about to spill every last secret either. I doubt you expected me to defeat Voldemort with fourth-year spells."

"I appreciate your honesty," Dumbledore said. "And I understand your reasoning. After all, everyone knows that I don't share everything _I_ know."

"We're on the same page, then."

"I'm only asking you to be careful. I don't doubt your ability. Just please be aware that with youth come certain limitations, no matter how much your track record seems to be to the contrary. When I was your age, I too started discovering powerful magic and grow independent. I wouldn't have become what I am today without it…"

Harry watched Dumbledore through squinted eyes.

"...but if I can, I would spare you the unnecessary mistakes," Dumbledore finished. "Those who don't learn about history are doomed to repeat it. I would be glad to give you a few history lessons. Or something else, perhaps."

 _Is he offering to train me?_

"You would teach me?" Harry asked, taken by surprise.

"If you want, yes. You don't need to decide right now." Dumbledore corrected the glasses on his nose. "Think about it and let me know. In the meantime… be careful."

Harry took a moment to find the right answer.

"I understand that becoming a powerful wizard takes a lot of work," he said, "and I appreciate your concern. But... can you reach your full potential without making some mistakes along the way?"

"Many witches and wizards spent years studying time-travel in trying to answer that very question."

"And did any of them succeed?" Harry asked sceptically.

"We may never know," Dumbledore said with a smile. "After all, we can't state with absolute certainty that our present reality isn't someone else's second attempt at life."

"Interesting. And also more than a little weird."

"It's the same with perfect crimes, Harry," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly. "If a crime is perfect, then it was probably meant to never be found out about. Therefore, it is quite possible that perfect crimes are committed all the time."

"Well, Headmaster… I don't know how far back in time I would need to travel to make a difference, so I'll take my chances against Voldemort as they are."

"I think you underestimate yourself," Dumbledore said with a serious undertone. "I believe you're quite capable of improving your odds."

Dumbledore left after finishing his chocolate, but not before wishing Harry a happy birthday.

"I see you forgot," he said, smiling gently. "Understandable, with all that's happened. Your friends certainly didn't however. I believe there may be a party in plans for the evening."

He left then, promising to drop by for the aforementioned party. Harry himself wasn't particularly looking forward to it - in all honesty, he'd much rather take the time to have a good, long conversation with Sirius about all the things they covered only in barest detail in the letters.

As soon as the back door closed behind Dumbledore, the door at the other end opened wide and a stream of people poured in. It took a moment before anyone noticed Harry sitting at the table with a cup of chocolate and a frown on his face.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed in surprise.

"Harry?" someone else asked, clearly stumped by his sudden appearance.

But it was Hermione's reaction that was the most surprising.

"Harry!" she shrieked, before breaking into a short sprint, her momentum almost toppling his chair when she threw her arms around him. Harry had enough sense to put the mug back on the table and then Hermione was holding onto him as if both their lives depended on it.

"I am also very excited to be here," he mumbled from inside the embrace.

"Oh!" Hermione backed off. "Sorry, I'm just- we were all so worried about you... and then the dementors-"

"It's done," Harry interrupted her. "Don't worry about it."

Only then did Hermione realize that everyone had been watching her outburst of enthusiasm with amused expressions. Ginny spared her further scrutiny by following Hermione's example and soon everyone settled in for breakfast. Harry moved to the edge of the table where he could talk quietly to Sirius. He was slightly annoyed by Hermione's interruptions, disallowing him and Sirius to touch on any really important subjects. He'd rather keep those things secret, at least for now, and Hermione would undoubtedly want to help. He felt especially irritated when she chastised him for taking matters into his own hands.

"You should have waited for Professor Dumbledore," she insisted. "There was no need to spend a night in a _cell._ And that way, you might have had more time to prepare your case. You know I would've helped you."

"Hermione," Harry interrupted her, "you seem to be forgetting one important fact."

She raised an eyebrow.

 _"I won."_

"That doesn't make your actions any less reckless. Honestly Harry-"

"Can we do this later? I'm trying to talk to Sirius."

Hermione blushed at the remark. "Oh... Sorry. I'll just- give you some space then."

"Much appreciated."

"That was a little harsh," Sirius observed.

"No other way would have worked," Harry replied. "I know her well enough."

"Well, you can't blame a girl for liking you," Sirius continued, winking at him.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Whatever that was supposed to mean, I missed it."

Sirius grinned. "She likes you."

"We're friends. I don't think she'd spend the last four years at Hogwarts in my company if she didn't like me."

"Oh no. I meant she _likes_ you."

Harry snorted. "What are you-"

"And she's not the only one," Sirius finished, pointing discreetly at someone across the table. Harry looked in that direction and his eyes landed on Ginny, who quickly looked away upon being caught watching him.

"You mean... seriously?"

"Trust me," Sirius said nonchalantly. "I'm good at this relationship stuff."

"Oh, I'm sure," Harry retorted.

"Well, I have eyes," Sirius insisted, "and I watched your parents behave out of character for the entire seventh year. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."

"So what would you advise?"

"Pick one and have a great time. If it doesn't work, you always have the other to, ah... _fall back on."_

"I didn't have you pegged for a shameless womanizer," Harry whispered.

"Well, James was a serial monogamist, Remus was always shy. Peter..." He grimaced at the mention of the traitor. "Peter was a walking disaster when it came to the ladies... _someone_ had to do it."

"And I bet it was such a burden, too," Harry said with a chuckle.

"Hey." Sirius raised his hands in defence. "I only advertise the truth."

Harry looked on sceptically.

"When necessary," Sirius added.

When the inevitable questions came, Harry used the excuse given to him - if inadvertently - by Dumbledore.

"The Headmaster trusts me enough not to interrogate me," he announced to everyone.

As the meal came to an end, Sirius inclined his head and spoke quietly, "I think your friends expect a more concrete answer than that."

"I'm not terribly inclined to be answering anyone's questions right now" Harry muttered.

"I'm just saying," Sirius whispered, "that perhaps you should deal with them now so _we_ can talk later."

Harry blinked in realisation. "Maybe you're right."

With that, he stood up from the table and gave both Hermione and Ron a significant look. They quickly excused themselves as well, drawing a few badly concealed amused glances from the members of the Order. Harry was sure he could guess what they were thinking.

 _Those kids, they think they're so inconspicuous. Let them have their fun, as long as they leave the important matters to us adults._

Well, he couldn't care less about their misconceptions.

Ron led them to a room on the second floor that he was supposed to be sharing with Harry. Once the door was closed, he sat down on his bed, waiting for either of his friends to say something. Hermione gave Harry another breath-depriving hug. Harry spotted Ron tense up in the corner of his vision.

Was Ron _jealous?_

 _Maybe you should just tell her, mate._

"Harry, I didn't want to say it in front of everyone..." Hermione began.

 _I'm not sure I want to hear whatever it is even now._

"...I'm so sorry!" she said. "I know our letters were useless and I don't blame you for stopping answering them, it's just that Dumbledore made us promise we wouldn't write about anything important-"

"He said it wasn't safe," Ron put in.

"-so we just stuck to whatever he allowed us to write."

Harry almost felt disappointed. He was expecting something more... substantial.

"Whatever," he said with a shrug. "I'm here now, so it doesn't matter anymore."

"You- you're not angry with us?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yeah... we've prepared ourselves for a chewing out and a lot of shouting. We know how you hate not knowing stuff-"

"I think you're confusing me with Miss Granger here, Ron," Harry said smoothly. Hermione blushed a deep crimson and swatted him on the arm.

"Shush, you," she said, trying to keep embarrassment out of her voice.

"Yeah... but like you said, we're together again, so... what's the plan?" Ron asked eagerly.

"There are no plans for anything yet, Ron. I just got here. I'm going to talk to Sirius later."

"What, we're not invited?"

Harry frowned. "There are some things I can't tell you. And some I don't want to tell you."

"You can trust us, Harry," said Hermione.

"I know and I trust you, but there are some things-"

The anger was always there, waiting to break out, squeezing his gut like a vice. Malfoy. Vernon. Dudley. Ever since the graveyard. Something had changed and he didn't know what it was and it scared him.

"-that I'm going to keep to myself."

He made for the door and stopped with his hand on the knob. "You know, Hermione, I _am_ angry. Your letters were useless and I don't care what Dumbledore said. All you had to do was ask Sirius."

"Harry, we couldn't have known-"

"I've never known you to just give up, Hermione," Harry said. The anger was scratching at the back of his head, If he didn't leave now, he would blow up on them and he didn't want to end up doing something he would regret. "But I don't want to start yelling or whatever, so I'm going to talk to Sirius. I'll see you later."

Just then, Hermione's expression changed. "You _should_ get angry."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"After the Third Task, you barely said a word to either of us. I thought maybe you needed some time, but even now you're still keeping everything inside and I can see it's bothering you. So get angry. Yell at us, something, anything!"

Harry closed his eyes and took a calming breath. "I'm not getting into a fight just because you think I should, which is _insane-_ "

Hermione was inches away from him before he could finish the sentence.

"Fine. Keep it all bottled up. Nevermind it's never worked before. I'll get out of your way."

Harry's arm shot out to block the door. "You're being a real-"

"What?" she hissed.

 _"_ _Bitch."_

"Apparently I have to every once in a while or else you'd be a ticking time bomb, just like you are now, just waiting to blow up. I'd rather you get it over with now."

"I didn't have much of a choice," Harry said in a low tone. "I spent the last month trapped in Little Whinging because Dumbledore insists on sending me back there and Tonks was all that's kept me from going _insane._ Don't get righteous, you're not always right."

"Professor Dumbledore just wants to keep you safe."

Something broke.

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT BEING SAFE!" he yelled. Hermione jumped back, startled. "Voldemort is _back._ Every other night I feel like my head is going to explode and Dumbledore keeps me at _fucking Privet Drive_ so I don't learn more than he allows me to know! I just-"

"Just what?" Hermione snapped. "What do you want, Harry?"

He just wanted Voldemort _dead._ He wanted to find out why he was dreaming Voldemort's memories. He wanted to know why he was so _angry_ all the time, because he hadn't felt like himself since he brought Cedric's body back to Hogwarts. And he wanted other people to stop demanding things of him.

He screamed until his lungs were empty. His face felt hot and he was breathing like he'd just run a marathon. He collapsed onto a bed and looked up at Hermione. "Are you satisfied?"

Hermione's expression softened. She sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. "Do you feel better?"

"A little," Harry admitted.

"I know I push too hard sometimes, but sometimes you need it. Both of you, you stupid… boys."

"Are you two done?"

Harry looked at Ron, who stood staring at them, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, I think so," Harry said. "Look, guys, we'll talk once there's actually something to talk about. I'll see you later."

He went back downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Sirius had warned him about his mother's portrait and he wasn't in the mood for encounters with foul-mouthed paintings.

The house seemed empty and quiet - the Order members had left for work and assignments and the rest spread out throughout various rooms. In the kitchen, he met Mrs. Weasley cleaning up after lunch.

"Harry, dear," she said with a warm smile. "Are you still hungry? You left early-"

"No thanks," he interrupted. "I'm looking for Sirius."

"I think he's in the library. Just down the hall, last door to your left."

He followed the directions and found the much talked about Black library. He knocked and immediately the door flew open. Sirius pulled him inside.

"Come in," he said, grinning. "Welcome to the hive of knowledge most terrible. You're only the second person to set foot inside since my mother died."

Almost every inch of the walls covered by bookshelves. In the middle was a comfortable looking sofa and two matching armchairs sitting in front of the only section of one wall not occupied by books but a large, decorative fireplace. Fire was crackling in it, casting small shadows all over the room.

"Take a seat. We have a lot to discuss."

He closed the door behind Harry and tapped it with his wand. Instantly, Harry felt the magic shift in the air.

"What was that?"

Sirius smiled smugly. "This room has been used for plotting and scheming by many generations of Blacks. The walls are soaked with enchantments meant to guarantee protection and privacy. They can only be activated from the inside by someone with Black blood and only the person who enabled the magic in the first place can dispel it afterward."

"That was many words to say that we can now talk privately," Harry commented.

Sirius fell back into the armchair. "I used to hate this place when I was a kid, but I'd be lying if I said it's not a neat little fortress. You want tea? Kreacher!"

There was a crack and the ugliest house elf Harry had ever seen appeared. He was obviously very old – sagging skin and the filthy piece of cloth he wore were testament to that – and probably demented, if one judged by the way he muttered insults, clearly directed at Sirius.

"Mudblood-lover shouldn't call himself Master..."

"Shut up, Kreacher," Sirius snapped. "Brings us some tea."

The elf disappeared and returned shortly carrying a large silver tray with a steaming teapot and bowl of biscuits. Harry took one as Sirius poured them tea.

"I can't help but notice that your house elf is probably overdue for his retirement."

"Who, Kreacher?" Sirius looked up. "Ah, he's a disgusting little backstabber, but I keep him around because he's loyal to the Black family and for all his flaws, he's good at what he does. Besides, it's not like I can get another house elf. You need to not be a wanted criminal for that."

"Have I told you about Dobby?" Harry asked idly. "He's… over-enthusiastic, sometimes, but I like him."

Sirius waved it off. "We can talk about finding a replacement for Kreacher once I'm free."

"Yes, about that," Harry said, setting down his teacup. "I was thinking... maybe there's a way to exonerate you without Pettigrew."

"No, there isn't. You know only the barest of basics. It may have been enough to get out of those bullshit charges today, but this is orders of magnitude bigger. I need someone who knows the law and how the Wizengamot works for this."

"Dumbledore?"

"Knows the Wizengamot. Dumbledore's an expert on many things, but not everything. Don't worry, we've got someone in the Order who knows his way around those things."

"If you say so."

"I do. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about anyway." Sirius picked up a biscuit and devoured it in one bite. "You're good, Harry, but if you want to be a part of this, you need to get better."

"I know that." Harry stared into the flames. "Dumbledore offered to teach me."

Sirius let out a whistle. "That's a rare thing. You should take him up on it, once we figure out where we can do this."

"We?"

Grinning, Sirius raised his teacup to him. "I'm not one to boast, but you'll hardly find a better duelist in the Order than me."

"Moody," Harry said.

Sirius scoffed. "Please. Moody's good, but he's not invincible."

"I thought he was this legendary Auror."

"Have you already forgotten what the Ministry calls me?"

He didn't forget. According to the Ministry, Sirius was supposed to have been Voldemort's right-hand man. He looked at Sirius with a sort of curious respect he had never ascribed to him before.

"But you were so young when they sent you to Azkaban."

"I was four years out of school, Harry. Four years is a long time. The war was a good time to forge a reputation. But, we're getting off track again." Sirius leaned deeper into the armchair, his face an unreadable mask. "I want to tell me more about those nightmares you've been having."

Harry bit his tongue. He'd mentioned them only once and stubbornly ignored Sirius' pleas, then demands, to explain it further. He regretted writing about it even that one time once he started seeing Voldemort's memories.

"It's nothing. They've stopped."

Sirius was giving him a piercing stare. Harry fidgeted in his seat.

"I'm telling you, it's nothing."

"Alright," Sirius said, crossing one leg over the other. "If you don't want to talk about it, I won't push. We can always revisit this at another time, if you want."

True to his word, Sirius didn't bring up the subject again and instead they talked for a long time about anything that came to mind, catching up for lost time. They both excused themselves from dinner with everyone else and instead had their meal in the library. Afterward, Sirius probed his knowledge of dueling, offering both general and specific advice. When Harry stifled a yawn, Sirius blinked and looked at his watch.

"Oh dear," he mumbled. "We've been here for hours. I think that'll be enough for today."

"Thank Merlin," Harry said.

"Besides, it's almost time for your birthday party!" Sirius exclaimed, grinning.

"Party," Harry repeated. "Yes. Dumbledore mentioned it."

"Aren't you excited?"

"Don't get mad, but – no, not really. I've never had a birthday party before. What are you supposed to do? Look happy while everyone sings you birthday songs?"

"In a pinch," Sirius agreed. "There's also the cake, presents of course and if there are women around, which there are, you might receive a birthday kiss," he finished, waggling his eyebrows. "It'll be fun, you'll see."

"I certainly hope so."

~~oOo~~

To Sirius' dismay, Harry couldn't find it in himself to 'loosen up' and spent the first part of the evening on the couch in the living room, trying to look captivated by his birthday presents.

"That just won't do," Sirius decided. "Kreacher!"

"Master called?" the elf asked a moment later.

"Get me a bottle of Ogden's."

Remus, who stood next to Sirius went wide-eyed. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

Sirius just grinned at him.

"Oh, who am I kidding," Remus groaned. _"_ _Of course_ you're thinking it! No, Sirius, I forbid it."

"Spoilsport," Sirius said. "Look at him, Moony!" he insisted, gesturing in Harry's direction. "He's not having fun. On his birthday! That's unacceptable, period."

"Maybe if you'd let him decide what kind of party he wanted for his birthday-"

"Pff," Sirius interrupted. "Let's not squabble over insignificant details. There is a birthday boy there, brooding in a corner. I won't-"

"Master's drink," Kreacher screeched, holding up a bottle of amber liquid.

"Great," Sirius said, snatching the Firewhiskey. "Now get out."

He opened two bottles of Butterbeer and added a gracious amount of Firewhiskey to one before marching towards Harry.

"Drink," he commanded, holding the spiked bottle out for his godson. Harry took it without much enthusiasm.

"I appreciate your efforts, Sirius," he said, "but I don't think you can actually get drunk on Butterbeer."

"Let's test that theory, shall we?" Sirius clinked their bottles against each other. "To freedom!"

Harry stared at the bottle for a moment. "To revenge," he said quietly.

Sirius squinted at him. "Yes, I suppose that too."

Harry took a swig from the bottle and almost dropped it as he began choking.

"God, Sirius," he managed to say in between coughs. "That's _not_ Butterbeer."

"Not all of it, no," Sirius confessed. "Want another one?"

Harry gave it a moment of thought. "Sure," he said. "Why not. I won a Wizengamot trial today. That's something to celebrate, right?"

~~oOo~~

Two more bottles later, Harry was light-headed enough to not feel embarrassed when Hermione pulled him onto the dancefloor. Soon, they were whirling among the others. Sirius, who turned out to be a surprisingly skilled dancer, glided across the room with Tonks. Harry had to constantly watch himself to avoid stepping on Hermione's toes, which, in his drunken state, was no mean feat.

Ginny and Tonks also insisted on a dance with him and he didn't feel up to protesting, so he just went along with it. Ron challenged him to a game of pin-the-tail, which Harry spectacularly lost when he pinned a donkey's tail to Sirius' back, who yelped in pain before storming off to collect his dignity. Fred and George, seeing Harry stripped of his inhibitions, fed him several of their new products, which led to Harry parading through the ground floor as several different animals and sporting rainbow-colored skin.

The evening ended less than ideally, however, when Harry's stomach protested against any more alcohol, be it Firewhiskey or Butterbeer, and he commandeered the bathroom for almost an hour. When he emerged from it, the lightheadedness was gone and he could think clearly again but he felt as if he'd been wrung out like a wet cloth.

"I'm going to kill Sirius," he mumbled.

"I hope it doesn't come to that," a familiar voice spoke from behind him. "Sirius makes for excellent company at parties and he's a very talented young man."

Harry spun around to come face to face with Dumbledore.

"Good evening, Professor."

The elder wizard plucked a pocket watch from his robes. "It would seem it's rather closer to 'good morning' already," he said with a smile.

"Good morning then. Ugh..."

"I apologise for my late arrival, but, alas, these are troubled times and duty takes precedence before partying."

"I will gladly take duty before partying," Harry said with conviction. "No more alcohol – ever."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the dimly lit hallway. "I did bring a present, though." He produced a small, rectangular package and handed it to Harry.

"Thank you," Harry said, staring at it. "You didn't have to…"

"It was no problem at all, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. "I had a spare. And I think it'll come in handy."

"What is it?"

"I wouldn't dare to spoil the surprise. But I suggest," he added, catching Harry's wrist gently, "that you wait to open it until you're feeling better. The box is charmed, but the object it holds is quite heavy."

"Okay," Harry said. Suddenly, his eyes gleamed with a light of their own. "Do you think you could give something to Snape for me?"

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore reminded him.

"Yes, yes, Professor Snape," Harry slurred. "Could you pass on a letter?" he asked.

"Certainly. What letter?"

"Oh, Merlin's pants..." Harry stumbled back and fell onto a stair. "It's up in my bedroom. I'll get it… just give me a moment…"

"That's quite alright. _Accio letter!"_ the Headmaster intoned and a few second later an envelope came flying into his hands. "Is that the one?"

"Yes. Could you… you know…"

"I'll pass it on to Severus. As for you, I would suggest a shower and a good night's sleep."

"Wait," Harry looked up. "I wanted to talk to you. I have- an idea."

Dumbledore looked on curiously. "What kind of idea?"

Harry laid it out in simple terms. Dumbledore grew more intrigued with each word.

"You see, Professor," Harry said slowly, measuring his words. His body signalled in every way it could that he should go to bed already. "Voldemort wants the prophecy. So we'll dangle it in front of him, lure him out. He comes for it, maybe he gets it, but he's out, too. No more hiding. The Ministry will have to admit he's back." He paused and rubbed his temples. "What do you think, sir?"

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed a little. "While goading Voldemort into doing anything he doesn't want to do is risky… very dangerous… I think your idea has merit. It might be just what we need to tip the scales in our favor. If the Minister could be convinced to see reason, it would be an immense advantage."

"The Minister," Harry growled, "is a festering pile of dragon sh-"

"I appreciate your honesty, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted him. "And while I'm sure many would agree with that statement, Cornelius Fudge is still the Minister and deserves a certain modicum of respect by virtue of his station."

Harry lowered his head between his knees. "Whatever," he mumbled.

"I'll be sure to drop by within a week. We shall discuss it in more detail. Until then, Harry. And I hope you had a very happy birthday."

Harry watched Dumbledore until he disappeared behind a corner.

"I'm going to kill Sirius."

~~oOo~~

"Wake up."

He stirred and muttered, "Five minutes."

"Oh, we have time, but I don't have the _patience,"_ the voice spoke again. "I _said,"_ it hissed with malice, "wake up, Potter."

He felt a sting of pain and yelped in surprise. His eyes flew open and then he was instantly on his feet.

 _What on earth?_

"Finally, you're awake."

Harry spun around in place. Well, at least he thought he did. He couldn't really tell.

Everything above him, around him and below him was white. There was no ground, no walls and no ceiling. No landscape in the distance, and no horizon. Only him, suspended in the unending, blinding whiteness and the disembodied voice.

"Look behind you." He heard the voice as if its owner had just whispered the words into his ear. He slowly turned back.

 _"_ _You!"_

"Yes, me."

Before him stood Voldemort, clad in elaborate black robes, his crimson eyes alight with malicious glee.

"Me. And you. Alone. At last," he paused and spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, "we can talk."

"You're not going to attack me?" Harry asked, slipping into a dueling stance, even though he had no wand.

Voldemort laughed. _"_ _Of course_ I'm going to attack you, Harry. But..." He raised a finger. "...not just yet."

"Where are we? What is this place?" Harry demanded.

Voldemort's eyes bore into his. "I'm disappointed. It looks different, but it should _feel_ the same."

"Is this some kind of game?"

The Dark Lord laughed again, his cold, high pitch filling the hollow space and making the hair on Harry's neck stand straight. "Everything is a game! _Life_ is a game – the kind of game where you don't know the rules or the goal, so you must _make your own."_

They stared at each other in silence.

"Oh well." Voldemort sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected too much from you."

Suddenly the emptiness around them was no more and they found themselves in a long, narrow corridor with walls of cold stone. Harry recoiled in realisation as he recognized it.

"The connection."

Voldemort clapped his hands and the corridor dissipated, replaced again by the white emptiness.

"Correct. We are in the mental link that connects our minds."

"Why does it look different?" Harry asked, while his instincts screamed at him to run.

"When you use it," Voldemort said, "it looks like the corridor. Something the subconscious part of your mind created to make it easier for you to navigate. But when I'm in control, it looks like this." He swept his hand in a wide arc. "Quite disorienting, isn't it? It makes it harder for you to find an escape route."

"What do you want?" Harry snapped.

 _"_ _That,"_ the Dark Lord said, grinning in an eerily predatory manner, "is not a question to which I can give a simple answer. But among the things I want is your destruction."

"Destruction... That doesn't necessarily mean death. You don't want me dead anymore?"

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort said, "No."

Harry blinked several times. "I'm confused."

"When we last met, something went wrong."

"Obviously," Harry said. "You were supposed to drown in that cauldron."

"There is a part of the prophecy I don't know," Voldemort continued, seemingly paying no attention to him for the moment. "I suspect Dumbledore told you – but to try and extract the knowledge from your mind would be a waste of energy. There are other ways. More time-consuming, but safer."

 _Right. Not for long, Tom._

"So, until I learn the full text of the prophecy, I shall refrain from killing you. Dumbledore believes there are things worse than death."

"What is your plan then?" Harry demanded. "You'll tear my mind to shreds? Kidnap and torture me?"

Voldemort looked at him, appalled. "Give me some credit, Potter. Simple torture has its place, but I am not a savage."

"Care to give a hint or two?"

"I intend to punish you. You have invaded my mind without permission."

Harry stayed silent.

"Oh, don't act coy now. Fiendfyre? Somehow, I don't see Dumbledore teaching you how to use it. And spells aren't all that you have extracted from my memories."

"Well," Harry said. "I suppose time for playing innocent is over."

"I don't know what else you've seen – I'm afraid what's done is done."

"And it only took you a month to notice," Harry said, sneering. "Congratulations."

Voldemort glared at him. "I assure you, Harry, you won't be feeling quite so smug in the morning."

"Oh yes? What are you going to do? Give me a headache?"

"No," Voldemort said flatly. "I have something else in mind."

The way he said it made Harry lose all his bravado.

"It never occurred to you that if you can get inside my mind, then perhaps I could do the same?"

Harry froze.

"I suggest you fight me with all your might," Voldemort said acidly. "I will not be gentle."

~~oOo~~

Harry awoke with a start, breathing heavily. He raised a hand to sweep the cold sweat from his forehead, but stopped abruptly, his hand still in front of his face. It was wet as well, but not from sweat. He'd seen blood enough times to recognise it even in the dark.

 _I_ really _hope that's not mine._

He focused on his wand. _Accio._ A moment later he could feel it in his grasp.

 _"_ _Lumos."_

He illuminated the room he was in, shooing away the darkness. This wasn't the bedroom he shared with Ron.

He waved his wand at the fireplace and it lit up with bright fire, casting a warm glow all over the living room. Now, Harry could see there was more blood on the carpet.

His gaze slowly trailed the blood across the parquet and up the sofa, until it reached a message. At least it looked like a message.

WATCH, HARRY POTTER

Above the words, pinned to the wall by magic, was Ginny, still in her nightclothes, her wrists and throat sliced open, her face paralysed in a silent scream. And burned into her forearm, black as coal, was the Dark Mark.

Harry stared at her for a long moment before the haze on his mind ebbed away and he realised he was just _standing_ there, and she was either dying or dead already…

"SIRIUS!" he yelled. "GET DOWN HERE!"


	5. CHAPTER ONE: Dissent, Part 3

**CHAPTER ONE: Dissent**

 **Part 3**

The last hour had been a blur. Harry remembered screams of anguish – and crying. A lot of crying. But he did remember Sirius storming into the room and staring in horror at Ginny, much like Harry had been moments before.

He remembered Hermione, her head whipping from him to Ginny and back, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. He remembered Ron stumbling back and falling at the sight of his sister and Mrs. Weasley making strangled noises because she couldn't get an honest cry out of her throat. And finally he remembered Dumbledore Flooing in, casting one glance at Ginny's unmoving form and raising his wand. Then there was blackness.

He looked around, dazed. He grasped for his wand, but it wasn't there. He summoned it, but it wouldn't come.

"Where am I?" he asked, as the world spun around him uncontrollably. He tried standing up, but collapsed to the floor in an undignified heap. "Where _am_ I?"

"You are in my house," Dumbledore's gentle voice answered him. "In the attic, to be precise."

He blinked away the dizziness and tried to make sense of the words. Dumbledore's house? Dumbledore had a _house?_

"I thought you lived at Hogwarts."

"Only during the school year," the Headmaster explained. "For all its wonders, when you have spent as many years as I in the castle, it can get quite boring at times."

"But _why_ am I here?" Harry demanded.

"You attacked Miss Weasley," the elder wizard said softly. "You had to be removed from Grimmauld Place."

The remnants of confusion were swept away by the Headmaster's words.

 _"I didn't_ attack Ginny," Harry protested furiously. "That was-"

"Voldemort," Dumbledore finished for him. "I'm well aware. And, as shocked as they are, so is everyone else. I thought it prudent to make that quite clear."

"Then what am I doing here?" Harry asked bluntly. "I have to go back, I have to talk to Sirius. The Ministry-"

"Let me worry about the Ministry for the moment," Dumbledore insisted, gently but firmly. "You cannot go back to Grimmauld Place right now. You were possessed by Voldemort."

He knew it, of course, on some semi-conscious level, but hearing it said by someone else brought the full gravity of the fact down upon him.

"How?" he whispered.

"Possession is not quite as uncommon as you might think," Dumbledore began. "There are ghosts, malevolent spirits, who utilise it fairly often. Of course, there are no such hostile ghosts at Hogwarts and never will be, as long as I'm Headmaster."

"I don't care about ghosts," Harry sputtered in anger. "How did Voldemort control my body? I- he didn't control my mind. I was still _myself,_ if that makes any sense…" He stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"Go on," Dumbledore encouraged.

"I was conscious through the possession," Harry said. "I remember it now, I saw everything… Voldemort only controlled my body, like I was his _puppet,"_ he spat out with disdain.

"Physical possession," Dumbledore spoke. "Body, but not the mind. That very rarely happens and is nigh impossible to perform for a living being."

"If it's so difficult, how did Voldemort manage it?" Harry asked. "Well, alright, he's _Voldemort_ but-"

"Thanks to your unique mental connection, no doubt," the Headmaster said. "And as long as that connection is open to him, he could probably do it again, although not for some time. Such magic requires great energy."

"So the connection has to be closed."

 _Which surely means I won't be able to access his mind anymore,_ he thought, _but I'd rather he can't do it to me either._

"Doubtlessly."

"Then what are we waiting for? Tell me how to do it so we can get back to Grimmauld Place."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Were it that easy, Harry. Alas, I do not know how."

Harry _looked_ at him. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I have seen much in my life," the Headmaster said sadly, "but the connection which you and Voldemort share is something entirely unique. I have never before encountered anything like it."

"You don't know," Harry repeated. "But that doesn't mean there isn't someone who does."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened visibly. "The only person who may possess such knowledge is beyond your reach."

"How can you be sure?" Harry snapped. "Tell me who it is! _Tell me!"_

Dumbledore's gaze became harder and so did his voice. _"Harry,"_ he said, "you forget your place."

"I know exactly where my place is," Harry argued. "And it's not here."

"Where is it then?"

"Wherever I can do Voldemort most harm."

"You speak of revenge," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes all but piercing Harry through.

"Of course I speak about revenge! After all Voldemort has done to me, you didn't think I'd want revenge?"

"I had hoped you would not stoop to his level," Dumbledore said quietly. "I would not see you become what you fight against."

"I will never be like Voldemort," Harry said indignantly.

"It is our choices that make us who we are. If you make the same choices Voldemort did, you will be no better than him."

"I respectfully disagree, Headmaster," Harry snapped. "I think I'm loads better than Voldemort. I don't hate all purebloods as Voldemort does muggles. I just want him _dead."_

Dumbledore watched him for a long moment and then left without another word.

Now alone, Harry decided to explore his new surroundings. He had the awful impression that he was, at least for now, a prisoner in Dumbledore's attic. He tried summoning his wand again, but, predictably, nothing happened. It had been taken away from him and with it, his ability to perform magic for the most part.

The attic looked like a spacious but cozy apartment rather than what he imagined a typical attic was, full of cobwebs and unused or broken objects. The ceiling was the underside of a pitched roof and there was a bay window at each end. The furnishings were simple – a single bed, a closet and a bathroom in the corner, equipped with everything a person might need. Obviously Dumbledore wanted him to be comfortable.

That still didn't make the fact that he was imprisoned any less infuriating.

Eventually his rage settled into a controlled anger, hot against his skin, but contained. Three times throughout the day a house elf popped in, left a meal tray and then collected it when Harry was finished. He saw no reason to starve himself in protest.

It was a brilliant sunset outside when Dumbledore came back, but this time he wasn't alone.

"Snape," Harry spat at the Potions Master.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, with a hint of displeasure.

"Yes, I know - _Professor_ Snape," Harry said irritably. "What is he doing here?"

"Professor Snape has agreed to assist us."

The man scowled at him. "Believe me, Potter, I'd much rather do _anything_ else than spend any amount of time in your company."

"The connection lies within your mind," Dumbledore explained. "I dare not venture inside while Voldemort has access to it. Professor Snape is one of the most accomplished practitioners of mind arts I know."

Snape glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded curtly.

"Don't resist, Potter," Snape said, raising his wand. "It'll be much easier this way. _Legilimens!"_

The room vanished and suddenly Harry was standing in a misty landscape as images of past events swirled around him. Then he felt a lance of white-hot pain spear through him and the memories dissolved into a whirlwind of colors, until eventually random ones flew out of the maelstrom and at him.

He was casting the Fiendfyre and failing to control it. He was threatening the Dursleys. He was flying against the Horntail.

He gasped when the images exploded in a puff of smoke and another set appeared.

He was talking to Quirrell in the chamber deep under Hogwarts. He was kneeling over Ginny's unmoving body while Tom Riddle looked on, laughing coldly… He felt his body constricted by ropes, binding him to a stone statue as Voldemort approached him, reaching out with his pale, spider-like hand-

Everything ended in a flash and he was back in the attic.

"It will be difficult," Snape announced. "His mind is entirely disorganised. I'm amazed that for someone with such experiences as his, he hasn't tried to turn some of this chaos into at least controlled chaos."

"What," Harry growled, "did you _do?"_

"Legilimency, Potter," Snape said succinctly. "Look it up."

"Legilimency allows one to enter and navigate another's mind," Dumbledore explained. "Occlumency, its opposite, allows one to protect the mind from outside influences."

"Then you want me to learn this… Occlumency?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the Headmaster said. "Until we can somehow destroy your connection with Voldemort, or at least close it, you shall remain here and learn Occlumency from Severus."

Snape looked none too happy at this, but made no complaint. Harry, on the other hand, felt compelled to voice his concerns.

"Will the learning entail more of _him,"_ he said, pointing at Snape, "rifling through my memories?"

"It is the quickest method."

"I refuse to let that creep look around in my head. It's bad enough that Voldemort did it."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in this matter, Harry," said Dumbledore and that was the end of it. "Try to get some sleep. You need rest."

Soon afterward, a house elf popped in with his trunk and other possessions. He spent the rest of the evening pacing restlessly and kept telling himself that Dumbledore probably wouldn't take well to it if he wrecked the attic.

When his watch indicated one o'clock, he was still too agitated to sleep. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to get some rest nonetheless.

It was, as he'd expected, entirely useless. He let his mind wander, but his thoughts always inevitably came back to Ginny, blood dripping from her wrists and neck. Why would Voldemort target _her,_ of all people? He doubted Voldemort had intimate knowledge of his social life and suspected the Dark Lord knew what everyone else did – his best friends were Ron and Hermione. Ron had been in the same room with him last night. Why not attack him? Why risk exposure and specifically seek out someone else? And even then, Hermione shared the bedroom with Ginny. It made no sense. And yet, there was a possible reason why Voldemort might have seen Ginny as a more desirable target…

Surely he'd found out about the diary debacle from Lucius. Perhaps he even knew what had transpired in the Chamber of Secrets, having found out somehow. Maybe there was some of the diary's magic left in Ginny and Voldemort felt drawn to it. Or maybe Voldemort thought she was Harry's secret girlfriend or something.

Harry snorted at the ridiculous thought. Then again, he could think of no other reasons for Ginny being targeted instead of Ron or Hermione. Or Sirius, for that matter.

He checked his watch again – it was past three in the morning. He let out a long sigh. What was he supposed to _do?_

 _You know what,_ his own inner voice replied. _The question is, do you have enough willpower to do it?_

He frowned, staring at the ceiling. He'd out-willed Voldemort in the graveyard, hadn't he? He'd forced the connection between their wands to turn on Voldemort, even though the Dark Lord had fought him all the way.

Oh, he had the willpower alright.

 _Yes,_ he assured himself. _I know what I have to do._

He closed his eyes.

~~oOo~~

Ginny's eyes fluttered open. She winced as the memories came back in a flood. She had been scared, but she wasn't anymore.

The night's events had been frightening and unexpected… at first. She knew, subconsciously, that Harry would never hurt her. He wasn't like that. They weren't very close friends, but he'd never been hostile towards her. He was hardly ever hostile towards anyone, unless pushed.

It had hurt when he slid his finger across her wrists and her throat, muttering spells under his breath, to halt the bleeding enough so that she wouldn't die. It had been Voldemort that attacked her, but he _didn't_ want her dead, for some unthinkable reason.

She couldn't fathom why. Killing her would strike at the Order's morale. And Harry's of course. Wasn't that just the kind of thing Voldemort would want?

Perhaps he let her live because he wanted Harry to look at her and be flooded with guilt each time he did. That would be something Voldemort – Tom – would do. Harry always blamed himself.

She felt weak and her throat was dry. She looked around the room - everyone was there. Her parents, her brothers, Hermione...

And Sirius. He was there too, tall and dark, leaning against the doorframe and playing idly with a silver chain around his neck. He was watching her with concern, but his face was otherwise calm and smooth. He was the first to notice she had woken up, perhaps because he was observing her so intently.

"Ginny," he spoke, his voice clear and firm. Everyone else collectively jumped. "How are you feeling?"

"Things are a bit... fuzzy," she replied hoarsely. "And I would _kill_ for a glass of water right now."

Ron immediately stood from his seat, prepared to rush downstairs to the kitchen, but Sirius put and arm in front of him.

"I've got it," he said, and flicked his wand, conjuring a glass which he then filled water and levitated to Ginny.

"Much better," she declared, laying back down. "How long have I been out?"

"A few hours, dear," her mother said, stroking her hair. In all honesty, Ginny felt a bit silly and more than a little freaked out, with everyone watching her every move, but said nothing.

"Where's Harry? Is he okay?"

She could _feel_ the atmosphere in the room thickening.

"Professor Dumbledore took him to his house. He... seemed alright," Hermione said in careful tones.

"Don't worry about Harry, he's fine," said Ron. "He's always fine. You-Know-Who's never beaten him, he won't this time."

Ginny thought Ron sounded strange when said those words, like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

"Not to be rude, but can you please leave?" she asked. "It's a bit crowded in here… and I would like to change out of these clothes."

There was a flood of 'of courses' and 'sorrys' as everyone hurried out of the room, eager to please her. She threw off the bed sheet and stood up, regarding her pajamas critically.

"Thank you," she heard someone say and looked up to find Sirius still leaning against the door, not having moved from his position.

"What for?"

"For not laying the blame on Harry," Sirius explained, pushing off the wall. "Some of the Order members jumped to conclusions. Rationally, everyone knows it wasn't his fault, but… well, it's only natural for them to want to blame someone and since Voldemort is kind of unavailable, Harry makes for a perfect scapegoat."

"I know what it's like to be possessed by Voldemort."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You used his name."

"A pseudonym," she clarified. "It's not even a name. His real name is Tom. And I think," she added, "that I've earned the right to call him whatever I want."

"I'm sure Harry would agree," Sirius said with a nod.

"He would," Ginny said knowingly. "What's that?" she asked, pointing.

Sirius lifted the silver chain. "This?" He drew out the rest of it from behind his shirt. A silver signet ring with a round black stone hung from it. "It's the Black Ring," he explained. "It belongs to the Head of the Family, which, at the moment, happens to be me. I keep it on the chain because it's a bit too tacky for my tastes. I'm not a ring person."

"What kind of person are you, then?"

Sirius shrugged. "I've always had a soft spot for cats, but I dare not keep one right now. Buckbeak lives on the top floor and he _eats_ cats, among other things. Anyway." He turned to leave. "If you need anything-"

"I'll ask. Thanks." She smiled. "He'll be okay."

"Of course he will," Sirius said with conviction. "He's Harry."

~~oOo~~

He sprinted through the hallway, focused on nothing but the door at the end. He knew he didn't have much time. Voldemort would be watching now, alert for any sign of his presence. Until yesterday, Harry had no idea there even was something as mind magic. He wasn't trained at it and he was willing to bet large sums of money that Voldemort had mastered it.

Therefore, there was no need to be subtle. His advantage now lay in surprise.

He crashed into the door, the impact almost tearing it from the hinges. He looked around wildly, looking for the familiar path leading to Voldemort's deeper memories. He cursed himself. If only he'd kept to the surface, perhaps Voldemort wouldn't have noticed what he had been doing.

 _Too late for regrets now._

He flung himself onto the path recklessly, leaping over a line of fire that suddenly erupted beneath his feet, feeling the flames lick his shoes. He ran and ran, as fast as he could, cutting still deeper into the Dark Lord's mind.

He'd never gone so far in before. Usually he would tip-toe on the fringes, nibbling at whatever memories he could reach. Now, pursued by Voldemort's cold fury, Harry tore into the centre, somehow bypassing all the invisible barriers as if they weren't there, attributing it to their mental connection.

He halted when he saw an enormous, pulsating sphere in front of him. It was surrounded by fingers of black smoke and he could hear distant whispers coming from it. He smiled coolly, confident he had found what he was looking for. He drew back his arm and threw it forward with all the force he could muster.

The sphere shattered into a million pieces.

~~oOo~~

Ginny recovered quickly and was now wolfing down a second helping of dinner. Hermione watched with amazement as the petite girl did a fine imitation of Ron, who looked on gloomily, casting hostile glances around, determined to watch out for his little sister.

Once she was done, Ginny marched to the living room, undisturbed by the fact that hours earlier, she had hung pinned to a wall there. She was pale and her movements were slow and calculated – she must still be feeling the toll of blood loss – but otherwise, she seemed fine. The cuts on her wrists and neck had been healed instantly by a Healer whom Professor Dumbledore had brought to the Headquarters to examine her.

Hermione, from her seat across the room, could see the faint outline of a scar that marked the spot where You-Know-Who had left Ginny a Dark Mark. It hadn't been a _real_ Dark Mark, of course – Professor Dumbledore had said as much - but the scar would take some time to heal and it might never disappear completely, was the Healer's opinion.

Now, Ginny was sitting next to Sirius on the same sofa that had been splattered with her own blood that very morning, chatting vigorously. They talked about cats and Buckbeak and laughed at something that had to do with the old pureblood families, a subject that Hermione wasn't very knowledgeable about. It begged an explanation why on earth would Ginny be talking to Sirius, with whom she hadn't exchanged more than a few words since she'd met him several weeks ago. Sirius himself spent most of the time lurking about the house and generally staying out of everyone else's way. When Harry arrived, he livened up visibly and then spent the rest of the day locked up with his godson in the library.

Ron worked his way into the conversation and talked Sirius into a game of chess. Ginny watched, clearly amused as Sirius, who turned out to be quite a skilled player, forced Ron to employ all his tricks and still managed to win half the time, seemingly without terrible effort on his part. The three laughed and generally enjoyed themselves, making Hermione feel out of place – until Ron unwisely touched upon the subject of Harry.

The easy smile vanished from Sirius' face. "You know it wasn't his fault, Ron," he said coldly.

"I'm just saying," Ron answered, "maybe it's a good thing Dumbledore moved him somewhere else. At least until he learns to keep You-Know-Who out of his head." He moved a piece. "Your move, Sirius."

Sirius just stared at him. "I've been led to understand that you were Harry's best friend."

"I am," Ron said. "I just get a little freaked out when my friends are possessed by-"

"I was possessed by Voldemort too," Ginny cut in. "Or did you forget?"

"That was different," Ron said sternly. "Stay out of this, Gin-"

"Why?" Sirius demanded. "She was attacked, not you,"and I don't see _her_ blaming Harry."

"Well," Ron continued, "she's little. I don't think she really understands. She could still be in shock, you know."

" _I am not little!"_ Ginny shrieked. "And you," she snapped, poking Ron in the chest, "are hardly the one to talk, what with your thick skull. I'm amazed _anything_ gets through."

With that, she left.

Sirius moved one of his rooks. "Checkmate, by the way," he said and also left, presumably to lock himself in the library again. For a short moment Hermione considered asking him again to let her in, but decided against it. He would probably just refuse, like last time.

"Bloody brilliant," Ron muttered, hurling himself into an armchair next to Hermione's. "Everyone's gone nuts. Harry stalks around at night stabbing people and- what? What did I say?" he demanded, seeing Hermione slam her book shut and glare at him.

"You really are thick, _Ronald,"_ she said, rather dryly.

Ron yelled after her as she left the room, but she didn't even acknowledge him.

~~oOo~~

The sphere shattered and he was showered with glass shards. They covered his skin in a thousand little cuts, a sting of pain coming from each one, magnified by their sheer number.

He gasped and fell to his knees as the shards tore at his clothes and the flesh underneath it, his arms, his face. He closed his eyes and put the hands up to protect himself, but the glass wouldn't stop cutting him…

He dared to open his eyes just a little – the shards were swirling around him in a mad dance, as if carried by wind. Blood was beginning to pool at his feet. He could only continue forward now.

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore sat behind the desk in his Hogwarts office, somewhat consoled by the fact that Harry was safe, for the moment. And, perhaps more importantly, others were safe from him. The wards around his house were sturdy enough, even if Harry decided, in his anger, to attempt to redecorate.

"The boy is… undisciplined," said Snape, sitting across from him.

"I'm aware that Harry lacks the mental rigor that any Occlumens needs," Dumbledore said from behind the series of slender arcs his fingers formed. "That is why I need you to teach him."

"I hardly think I'd be the best choice," Snape argued. "The boy trusts you-"

"I fear that may no longer be the case," the Headmaster interrupted, speaking softly.

"Well," Snape wouldn't be deterred. "He certainly trusts you more than _me."_

"Severus," Dumbledore pleaded. "My schedule is quite full at the moment, but that is the least of my worries. If it is needed, I will make time for the boy. I am asking you to teach him."

"On one condition-" Snape began, but was interrupted by a frantic house elf that had just apparated in. It was Dobby.

"Master Professor Dumbledore sir!" the elf shrieked in high-pitched tones. "Sprinkle just comes in and says something's bad happening to Master Harry!"

Dumbledore stood up, alarmed. "What? What is happening to Harry?"

"Master Harry's being hurt! Bleeding all over-"

Dumbledore's cloak twirled around him and he was gone.

~~oOo~~

Harry took another step forward, growing weaker with each second. Rapid blood loss was like that.

Eventually he found himself in the center of the glass tornado, where the shards didn't fly at all. It was quiet here, and the black smoke he'd seen surrounding the sphere before was just above the ground, like mist on a chilly spring morning.

Then the smoke shut upward and he saw images and heard voices. They were just small fragments of many different wholes, but it was still something. He was looking at Voldemort's deepest held secrets. Several images were repeated quickly, multiple times.

A man, dressed in immaculate, rich robes, clearly in his prime. That same man, dressed for battle, surrounded by foes and yet it was _them_ who looked frightened. Finally, that man in dirty rags, hugging his knees as he sat in a tiny cell. He looked fragile – like an old man that he was.

 _NURMENGARD. GRINDELWALD._

Harry flinched violently as the powerful voice suddenly echoed in his head.

Then he saw objects. Beautiful, old artifacts, each one with a violent history and capable of gifting the owner with powerful abilities.

A delicate, silver crown, looking out of place among other, ordinary-looking things. An ugly golden ring, embedded with a dark green stone. A necklace with a locket. The images changed faster and faster. A small, intricately decorated cup. Finally, a book. Small, thin, bound in green leather.

He knew that book.

Tom Riddle's diary.

 _SOUL,_ the voice boomed again. _HORCRUX._

Then everything ended and he heard another, very much familiar voice.

 _"POTTER!"_

Broken out of his stupor, Harry flung himself forward again, once more through the glass shards, still flying in circles. In front of him was an empty doorway. Hoping for it to be what he was looking for, he rushed towards it.

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore appeared in front of the attic door, unwilling to risk apparating straight in. All he knew was that Harry was injured, and Merlin only knew what else was happening.

He opened the door carefully, wand at the ready. Seeing no immediate danger, he walked in and looked left, then right.

Harry lay on the bed, bleeding profusely from numerous tiny, deep cuts that marred his entire body. He felt the wards twitch and he knew that Severus had arrived – he would have had to Floo outside the Hogwarts' wards first.

"I need your help, Severus!" he called, then summoned Sprinkle, who appeared right away, already carrying a handful of bottles and vials from Dumbledore's personal storage.

"Master- Sprinkle nots knowing what to bring, so he took some of everything!" the elf squeaked.

"You've done well," Dumbledore said, pointing his wand and a bottle leapt into his hand, already uncorked. "Please fetch warm water and fresh towels."

Severus came in at that moment. One look at the boy, lying dead still, was all he needed. He rolled up his sleeves and grasped his wand.

"I don't see essence of dittany here," Snape said. "Find some – fast. I'll need at least two jars. If you don't have it here, there's plenty in my storage in the castle," he instructed, kneeling next to the bed and taking the bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion from the Headmaster. "If you want him to live, I suggest you hurry. And get Grayson – I'm no mediwizard."

Dumbledore only nodded and vanished again, leaving Snape alone with an unconscious, dying Harry Potter.

~~oOo~~

Harry was no longer feeling weak. No, he felt _far_ better than normal. He was also no longer in Voldemort's mind. Well, not precisely.

He examined his hands with interest – though they weren't _his,_ to be exact. They were large, pale and strong. He was confident they could crush a man's skull.

He reached into his robes and drew out a wand – as white as his own pale skin, thirteen inches of yew. He admired it for a moment, at all times aware of Voldemort, furiously trying to regain control of his body, causing a faint headache to settle in at the back of his eyeballs.

He cast a long glance around the room. It was unfamiliar to him. Not surprising. He hadn't expected Voldemort to make his lair somewhere his enemies could find him.

Fire crackled in the hearth and a large snake coiled around his feet. It tasted the air with its forked tongue, lifting its heart-shaped head.

 _"Master,_ " it hissed. " _Master."_

He ignored it and looked up. His gaze fell upon two kneeling figures, both covered by long, hooded cloaks. One of them, he knew.

"Stand," he spoke, slowly, deliberately. Two Death Eaters rose to their feet. It felt like a tidal wave of malice and rage washed over him all of a sudden, an ice-cold intent to _kill._ He raised his wand at the man he didn't recognize and cast the curse with barely a thought. Green light illuminated the room for a moment as the spell slammed into the Death Eater.

He fell to the floor, dead. Harry turned his gaze on the other, grinning with fiendish glee.

"Wormtail," he hissed in a low voice.

"Y-yes, my lord?" the short, balding man asked. He reeked of fear, but his eyes showed admiration.

"I have a task for you," he said. "You will go to a location called Grimmauld Place in London and you shall remain there until ordered otherwise. I have reason to believe that one of Dumbledore's agents will soon be passing through that area. I want you to apprehend him."

Pettigrew quivered under his gaze. "B-but what if I am detected, master?"

Harry slashed the wand diagonally and muttered under his breath, pretending to cast magic.

"There," he drawled. "You will be unseen to Dumbledore's man. Now, go. I have no patience left for you tonight."

Pettigrew bowed deeply and backed out of the room, careful not to disturb the corpse on the floor. Once he was out in the hall, Harry heard him disapparate with a loud crack.

 _"ENOUGH!"_ Voldemort thundered.

Harry's vision blurred and he was sent tumbling out of Voldemort's body and through his mind, once again passing the dark sphere, now restored. He was hurled with such force that he crashed through both doors at opposite ends of the gray corridor. Finally, he landed sprawled on the ground at his end and watched the broken door slam shut and sink into the wall.

As he'd hoped, Voldemort closed the connection himself, perhaps even tore it apart. He wouldn't risk leaving it open if Harry could control _his_ body. It had been a wild gambit, but it worked.

Harry smiled weakly and closed his eyes, returning to reality.

~~oOo~~

He coughed, once, twice and stirred on the bed.

"Careful, Potter." Snape pushed him back into a lying position. "You've lost a lot of blood."

"Harry," Dumbledore said. "What happened? What did you do? Was it Voldemort again?"

"I forced him to close the connection."

"How-" Snape started, but was cut off.

"No time," Harry said. "Professor, listen… _Pettigrew-"_

He broke into a coughing fit. Snape held a glass of water to his mouth. Harry swallowed loudly.

"What of Peter, Harry? Do you know where he is?" Dumbledore questioned.

"No, but I know where he _will_ be, shortly. He was sent to watch Grimmauld Place-"

"Impossible," Snape interrupted. "The Dark Lord doesn't know about it. The Fidelius Charm-"

 _"Professor,"_ Harry insisted. "I know what I'm talking about. He will be there, we can catch him- exonerate Sirius..."

"Severus, go," Dumbledore ordered. "You've done enough. I will watch over him."

Snape left the room, followed by the billows of his cloak.

"Harry, I need you to tell me what you saw. Did you see through Voldemort's eyes?"

"…You could say that."

~~oOo~~

Something that sounded like a small explosion rocked Grimmauld Place Twelve, instantly waking all inhabitants. Hermione sat up straight in her bed and looked over at Ginny. Her flaming red hair stood out in the darkness.

"What do you think _that_ was?" she asked.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Hermione replied and scrambled out of the bed, reaching for her wand. She gathered her sleeping gown and threw it on hastily.

"BLACK!" someone yelled from downstairs. "GET DOWN NOW!"

"Was that-" Ginny began, surprised.

"Professor Snape." Hermione gasped quietly. "No, surely not…"

They were interrupted by a cracking sound of apparition.

"Snivellus, if this is your idea of a joke, I _swear-"_ they heard Sirius' muffled voice coming from below.

"Shut up, mutt, and gather your wits. Pettigrew will be here momentarily, if he isn't already."

There was a short pause.

"Let's go."

~~oOo~~

"Harry, listen to me," Dumbledore said in exasperation. "I do not wish to force you to tell me what transpired between the moment I left and when you woke up-"

"Then don't," Harry said, stubbornly looking away.

"-but I will," Dumbledore added, if there's no other way for me to find out."

Harry refused to speak, gripping at the windowsill, his entire body tense. He wouldn't give in, wouldn't let Dumbledore _judge_ him-

A hand fell gently on his shoulder. "Harry." The Headmaster's voice was rigid and commanding. "Please, do not force me. I _must_ know."

He took Dumbledore's hand by the wrist and pried it off his shoulder. The next moment he felt his body freeze and being levitated back to the bed, where Dumbledore leaned over him. Harry closed his eyes shut, but Dumbledore forced them open magically.

He looked up, down, left and right, anywhere but straight ahead into Dumbledore's blue eyes, but it was for nothing.

"I'm very sorry, Harry, but you leave me no choice. I only want what's best for you," he said, and then his face hardened. _"Legilimens."_

~~oOo~~

Sirius crept among the long shadows cast by the street lamps. One entire side of Grimmauld Place was a occupied by a small park, the best hiding place in the area.

He knew that Snape had entered the park from the other side, disillusioned as well. They would search the park and catch Peter in pincers, if at all possible.

Sirius moved forward slowly, taking carefully measured steps. It wouldn't do to let the traitor escape them. Not now, when a truly golden opportunity had presented itself. It could be their only chance – if there was one thing Peter was good at, it was hiding. Sneaky little bastard.

He circled around a tree, away from a puddle of light from a street lamp – even though he was disillusioned, someone with keen eyes could spot him and the distortion would be clearly visible in that kind of light, against a dark background. Peter was a worthless coward, but he wasn't a complete idiot – he used to be a very good lookout during their school years.

When a twig snapped under his shoe, Sirius froze in place and stopped breathing.

 _Goddamn it._

He investigated his immediate surroundings. No movement, no sounds. Nothing. Good.

Praying that Peter hadn't heard him, he continued onward.

~~oOo~~

Memories played out in front of his eyes like footage from a muggle video camera.

He was talking to Moody at King's Cross station. He was sitting at a desk in his room at Privet Drive, smiling in satisfaction, moonlight pouring in. He was pacing angrily in Dumbledore's attic, pondering what course of action he should take. He was lying on the bed in that same attic, calming his thoughts, eyes closed - he was sprinting down the gray corridor...

 _"Get out of my head!"_ he yelled, focusing on Dumbledore, on throwing him out.

Magic clashed against magic and they were both brutally forced out his mind, Harry sprawled across the bed, his head pounding, Dumbledore up against the opposite wall.

Dumbledore quickly gathered himself and walked up to the bed again, without realising that Harry had inadvertently broken through the paralysis and in the next moment Harry was on top of him, wrestling the wand from his fingers. He clenched his left hand around Dumbledore's throat and pressed the wand deep into his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore was saying, his eyes alight with a mad gleam that Harry had never seen in them before. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I had to know- I had to know. What was that gray corridor? Was it your connection to Tom? How-"

 _"Why?"_ Harry growled, clenching his fingers tighter and silencing the elder man, _"Why did you do this?"_

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment before speaking, not without difficulty. "I brought Tom Riddle into our world, Harry!" he rasped. "And I watched him, for years, knowing he was dabbling in Dark magic – and I did nothing! Nothing, because the Headmaster at the time forbade me from intervening."

"What does this have to do with me?" Harry snarled.

"And then, when I met him again, when I _could_ have done something, I decided to let him go, because I wanted to believe there was some good left in him still – and he did such things, Harry, like no one had done before-"

"If you don't start making sense in the next _five seconds-"_

"-I, and I alone, am responsible for what Tom Riddle has become!" Dumbledore said. "Through inaction, I've created a monster. Because truly evil deeds, Harry, are committed when _good_ people see something _wrong_ and do nothing. And you – you are so much like Tom. I cannot let this happen again, I will not-"

"I AM NOT!" Harry yelled. "I am _nothing_ like Voldemort!"

The mad gleam was back. "Oh, but you are, Harry – so much like him. If Tom could see what I see, he would recruit you and make you his most trusted man-"

"Shut up," Harry snapped, seething. "You're insane."

At once, Dumbledore's face regained its wise, grandfatherly look, contradicting him. "I assure you, Harry," he said, his voice also its calm, usual tone, "that I am in full possession of all my mental faculties. I am, however, frustrated. And I am," he continued as he sharpened his will into a single lance of thought, "truly sorry."

"What-"

 _"Legilimens!"_

~~oOo~~

Sirius had been a split second too late.

"Azkaban has made you careless, Sirius," Wormtail purred, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Did you think I have not heard you, stepping on that twig? I have good ears..."

He struggled in the ropes, but it only made them constrict around him further.

"The Dark Lord was right. He said there would be one of Dumbledore's men here tonight – and here you are! I really shouldn't doubt him, even if he is a tad insane. Really, it's ungrateful of me, to doubt the master."

"Well, you're a few sandwiches short of a picnic yourself, Peter, so I imagine you must get along famously," Sirius snapped. Where in _hell_ was Snape?

Wormtail glared at him. "Watch your tongue, Sirius, or I might decide you don't need it anymore. The Dark Lord doesn't need you to speak to learn everything he wants to know."

"You are a sick, pathetic little man, Peter," Sirius growled, "and I pity you."

"You shouldn't," Wormtail assured him. "The Dark Lord cares about his own – and I am one of his most loyal servants. I helped him rise again. And I have been rewarded for my loyalty." He raised his right hand and pulled off the glove.

Underneath, there was no flesh – only an artificial construct of silvery metal, just like Harry had described it.

"Do you like it, Sirius?" Peter asked. "If you prove useful, perhaps the Dark Lord will reward you as well…"

~~oOo~~

The memories flowed like a river. Try as he might, Harry couldn't stop them.

Dumbledore was there, standing right next to him, watching the images rearrange themselves into complete memories and then memories into subsequent minutes, hours, days... Those, in turn, snapped into their proper places in the infinitely long string. Harry watched in helpless rage as Dumbledore took his memories and put them together into his complete biography – every secret he'd ever held would soon be known to the mad Headmaster-

 _NO._

It was like someone lit a candle in the dark. He couldn't conjure a flame himself, but when that first, small spark was given to him, he could enlarge and manipulate it however he wanted. That spark – it was enough.

"AARGH!" he yelled, and tackled Dumbledore again, this time inside his mind. The elder wizard's control broke and they were back in the attic again.

Harry rolled off of Dumbledore, the man's wand in his hand and pointed it in the Headmaster's general direction.

 _"Tonare!_ You bastard, _TONARE!"_

He scrambled to his feet and fled from the room, through the unlocked door and down the stairs-

He tripped and fell flat on his stomach on the hardwood floor.

"Master Harry hurt Master!" Dumbledore's house elf squeaked, "Master Harry is a bad, bad wizard!"

Unreceptive to pain, dulled out by adrenaline, Harry seized the elf by the neck and hurled him against the wall, where he slid down to the floor, unconscious.

Harry got up again and looked around wildly. He spotted Dumbledore at the top of the stairs. His eyes were dark and his robes floated around him as magic sparkled in the air.

"Harry," he said, deadly serious. "That was uncalled for."

Harry wasn't thinking clearly.

"Go to hell. _Avada Kedavra!"_

He could see shock in Dumbledore's eyes as the man dove sideways to dodge.

Simultaneously, the attic door was ripped off its hinges and thrown in the path of the lethal curse, and then reduced to splinters when the spell collided with it.

Harry was halfway down the next set of stairs by then, looking for a way out of the building. Seeing none and unwilling to waste time searching for one, he pointed the stolen wand at the wall.

He would _make_ himself an exit.

 _"BOMBARDA!"_

A portion of the wall exploded outward, leaving behind a hole big enough for Harry to escape through. In the garden, he ran straight ahead, the only goal in his racing mind to get as far away from this place as possible. He leapt over the picket fence and turned back for a moment. Of course, Dumbledore was already making his way through the debris, a familiar-looking holly wand in hand-

Harry still wasn't able to think clearly.

"Burn, you two-faced bastard," he hissed viciously, raising Dumbledore's wand. _"Ignis Maledictus!"_

The hellish flame surged from it, eagerly clawing at the fence, the grass…

Harry turned back and ran, a desire to be somewhere far away, somewhere that wasn't either Dumbledore's house or Grimmauld Place, or even Hogwarts, burning in his mind...

With a loud crack, he vanished.

~~oOo~~

Snape stared in disbelief at Pettigrew, standing over a bound and helpless Black.

"Severus," Pettigrew greeted him politely. Black wisely kept his mouth shut. "The Dark Lord didn't mention you'd be here."

"A coincidence," Snape said, thinking quickly. "I was nearby and felt something familiar."

Peter scrunched up his nose. "Ah, yes – you like visiting muggle bars, don't you? Truly, I have no idea why the Dark Lord tolerates your strange habits-"

"What are you going to do with him?" Snape interrupted, pointing at Black with his chin.

"I have orders," Wormtail said with a superior sniff, "from the Dark Lord himself. I was to apprehend Dumbledore's agent. I'm going to take him to Mulciber Manor."

Snape eyed Black critically, trying to wordlessly convey _-don't break my cover-_ and, he suspected, failing spectacularly. He could risk a Memory Charm, but the Dark Lord wasn't above sacrificing Pettigrew's sanity to learn the truth – and that in turn would mean a long and painful death for him.

"See that you do," he said at last. "I have my own business to attend to."

There was a soft pop as he apparated away, leaving Black behind, a look of utter betrayal on the mutt's face.

He reappeared several hundred yards away, in the empty back yard of Grimmauld Place Twelve.

"Goddamn you, Black," he swore passionately.

~~oOo~~

Voldemort could not believe his luck.

It had taken several minutes before he fully regained control – he struggled to breathe and move his limbs as precious seconds bled away. By the time he felt right again, he knew, Wormtail would have already returned or he will have been captured. Potter wouldn't have wasted such an opportunity when he'd been smart enough to create it. With Wormtail, he would get his godfather cleared of all charges, giving him a powerful ally. A pity, but hardly a serious stopper to his own plans.

He did not expect Wormtail to escape the clever trap – for all his skill at spying, he was a despicably average wizard. Therefore, Voldemort was understandably astonished when his cowardly servant returned triumphant, hauling a seething Sirius Black behind him.

He couldn't stop a malicious grin from blooming on his face – it was just too _perfect._

"I must admit, Wormtail," he said, turning his gaze at his Death Eater, "I am pleasantly surprised."

"Thank you, master," the man replied, dropping to his knees.

"Perhaps I have underestimated you," Voldemort wondered, thoughtful.

"I do whatever my master requires," Wormtail answered, a fanatic gleam in his eyes.

"You shall be rewarded," the Dark Lord continued, meaning it. "And as for you, Master Black-"

Sirius Black looked up at him, proud and defiant.

"-I shall enjoy breaking you."


	6. CHAPTER TWO: Games, Part 1

**CHAPTER TWO: Games**

 **Part 1**

Dumbledore regarded the destruction somberly. It had been tricky, extinguishing Fiendfyre with another person's wand, but he'd done it. He cursed himself as he surveyed the damage. He had lost himself in old fears for just a few minutes, but it was enough to push Harry away. He shouldn't have pressed. He had panicked. It was precisely the sort of mistake he couldn't afford - Harry needed support, not scorn. Then again, he knew what he was getting into when he took the position of the good uncle of Wizarding Britain. The routine was tiring, but it was a price he was prepared to pay.

The changes in Harry were a cause for concern. His actions spoke for themselves, and as much as the boy wanted to deny it, he _was_ becoming more like Voldemort. Dumbledore was losing his connection with Harry, he could feel it in his bones. Had he failed to learn from his mistakes with Tom? Harry used to be such a kind, humble, soul. Albus would never have thought him capable of casting the Killing Curse.

Of course, that was before the graveyard.

Albus couldn't be sure, as his understanding of soul magic was... limited, but he could make an educated guess. There had to be an additional factor in this equation.

The horcrux, obviously. He couldn't think of anything else that would prompt such drastic changes in so short a time.

Harry Potter had been through more than any one person should have to endure, but it was for the greater good of all. Albus had learned not to let his regrets cloud his judgment. There was no point in crying over past mistakes. He could make sure there wouldn't be any more in the future. To that end, he needed to find Harry. Fortunately, the boy had taken his wand - it would be easy enough to follow the Tracking Charm.

He produced a small trinket from his robes and tapped it with Harry's wand, activating the Charm and frowned. It couldn't be...

He turned on his heel and walked briskly in the direction the Charm was pointing him. About two hundred yards from the remnants of his formerly white picket fence he found his wand – along with Harry Potter's fist clenched tightly around it.

"Oh, dear..."

He needed Severus.

~~oOo~~

He landed on all fours, breathing raggedly.

 _What just happened?_ he thought. _Did I apparate?_

Then he noticed that his right hand was missing.

The feeling was surreal; strangely, there was no pain, just dull numbness. He stared at the wound - it looked as if someone had sliced the hand cleanly off.

The stupor passed in a matter of seconds, adrenaline flooded his system again and the world came into a sharper focus. After some struggling, he tore a sleeve off his shirt and somehow managed to wrap it around the stump before he investigated his surroundings.

He was inside of what seemed to be a ruined house. The room he was in lacked a ceiling and two walls. The floor – what remained of it – was covered in debris: broken furniture, bricks and glass.

He walked through the room and into a hallway. Fragments of the floor were missing, so he moved forward cautiously, stepping over large chunks of the roof that had fallen in. The staircase at the end was mostly intact, although he had to jump down because the few bottom steps were destroyed. He went outside through the front door, holding on by the top hinge.

The summer night was hot, the air heavy. He noticed a large plaque in front of the ruined building.

 _This house was left here, unaltered, as a monument to Lily and James Potter, who gave their lives for their son, Harry and all of Wizarding Britain on the 31st of October, 1981._

Their sacrifice will not be forgotten.

He turned back around, slowly, taking in the sight of the ruin. To his surprise, he felt more confused than anything else. This had been his home, once. His parents had died here. He almost had.

He tried to imagine how the house had looked before Voldemort came here. It didn't seem particularly big - it had probably been just as normal looking as the neighboring buildings. Nothing to suggest it would become the last stand of the Potters.

Something tugged at his thoughts, urging him to go back inside, to properly look where his parents had fought their last battle, but decided against it. This place deserved a proper moment of contemplation, not an absentminded visit. He couldn't give it the respect it warranted in his current state.

At least he knew he was in Godric's Hollow, though even that information wasn't much good to him. He had to decide what to do next.

He couldn't deal with Dumbledore right now. Considering that Harry had retaliated with lethal force, it was probably better to stay away from the man for a while. He would have to go back eventually, but not right now. He needed time to figure out an explanation for his actions.

There was more. The name he'd heard in Voldemort's mind.

What did Grindelwald have to with Voldemort? Dumbledore had defeated him before Tom Riddle even graduated from Hogwarts.

He had questions that needed answering, about Voldemort and the horcrux. Whatever it was, it was obviously important to Voldemort.

 _What do I do now?_

His best chance was contacting Sirius, but he was Merlin knows where – he didn't know where Godric's Hollow was precisely. Not much to go on. It would be no problem for the Knight Bus, but he didn't have a wand. And besides, he had no money. Most of all, he'd rather not be seen like this. There would be too many questions.

Could he apparate again? He doubted it. He had no idea how he did and even if he tried, he wasn't in any state to try advanced magic.

Resigned, he slumped against the fence. The Order was probably looking for him already. He had no options other than waiting and hoping that Dumbledore wouldn't lock him up again, or take him to the Ministry. Would Dumbledore let him be thrown in prison for casting the Killing Curse? Would he give him a chance to explain?

Oh hell, _could_ he even explain? He hadn't been thinking straight and it was the first spell that came to mind. He honestly didn't know how he felt about that.

Was it possible that Voldemort's memories had given him more than just knowledge? Were Dark Arts as insidious as common wisdom claimed? Or was he just going crazy?

 _With all that's happened, I wouldn't be surprised if I was._

There was a sound in the distance. Apparition? A twig snapping? Was he hearing things now?

In any case, he couldn't stay here.

Leaning heavily on the fence, he stood up and made his way towards a nearby cluster of trees. The village was picturesque, with greenery decorating the street among sparsely situated houses. The infrastructure seemed to be getting denser down the street to his right – he could make out a small shop and a large, three-story building that stood out among the others, all of it illuminated by the soft orange light of the streetlamps. To his left, the cobbled road curved out of sight, disappearing behind a low wall.

 _Better to stay out of sight._

He crossed the street and started walking away from the village, moving in and out of shadows cast by the roadside trees. He kept a brisk pace, teeth grit, trying to keep his mind off the pain in his right arm. As the shock passed, the feeling returned and pain grew just a little more unbearable with every passing minute.

His eyes wandered and sweat poured down his face, making him correct his glasses as they continuously slid down to the tip of his nose. Eventually he yanked them off and jammed them into a pocket, not caring if they broke. He thought he could see well enough by the moonlight to keep moving, until he walked face-first into a large sign. Standing under a tree, the sign blended with its surroundings and he hadn't noticed it. The new, throbbing feeling in his nose – it was probably broken – took his mind of the burning sensation in his hand. He'd take his blessings as they came.

He put his glasses back on, deciding he'd rather deal with them slipping off than walking into a tree next time. He looked up at the sign.

GODRIC'S HOLLOW CEMETERY

Time stopped for a moment. Those three words somehow weighed more heavily on his mind than the memorial plaque in front of his childhood home.

 _They're here._

Only half-conscious of what he was doing, Harry followed the path through the iron-wrought gate. It forked into several more, leading further into the cemetery between rows of tombstones. He chose one of the diverging paths at random, his eyes scanning the inscriptions.

The cemetery was quite large for what he assumed to be a small village. He had no idea where he was going, letting his instinct guide him. He maneuvered between the graves, soon reaching an area sequestered from the rest of the cemetery by a row of decorative bushes. He felt a tingle of magic on his skin. It was a feeling familiar to anyone who had ever set foot in Hogwarts.

 _Muggle-repelling charms. This must be the wizarding part of this place._

Looking at the names here, he recognised several of them. One, unknown to him, drew his attention. A peculiar symbol was etched into the tombstone above the name - a line, inside a circle, inside a triangle. He was certain he'd seen this symbol before, but couldn't recall where.

"Ignotus Peverell," he said quietly. "Curious."

A little further in, he found another surprise.

Kendra Dumbledore

Next to this grave was another, smaller one.

Ariana Dumbledore

"Any relation, I wonder?"

The gravestones looked old, though cared for. There was a vase holding a fresh bouquet of flowers on each.

He'd never given any thought to the idea of Dumbledore's family. It was strange, trying to imagine him as a child. What had he been like back then?

He abandoned those thoughts when he spotted another name. His own.

James and Lily Potter had been laid to rest in a shared grave, their names side by side. The gravestone was spotless and there were fresh flowers here as well – someone had visited recently.

 _Was it Dumbledore? Sirius?_

Whoever it was, they hadn't brought him along. Why? Why had he never been to his parents' grave before now? Did Dumbledore think it was too dangerous? There had been plenty of opportunities to come here before Voldemort was resurrected.

So many questions. So few answers. So much anger.

There was something fundamentally wrong, he felt, with giving into his most base emotion here of all places, but he wasn't in the mood to contemplate anymore.

"I know what I have to do. _I will kill him._ Whatever it takes," he said, his voice vibrating. "I promise."

He knelt in front of the grave, staying still for what seemed like a very long time, but couldn't have been more than a minute.

"Those are powerful words, especially when backed by such resolve."

"Who's here?" he demanded, springing to his feet.

"In my defense, I was here first," the voice said. Then, a man in dark blue robes stepped out the shadows. "I was visiting my brother."

"Who are you?"

The stranger smiled. His sharp features lent the expression a predatory look.

"Why so hostile, Mr. Potter? I have no intention of attacking you."

"I make it a point to distrust people who sneak up on me."

The man nodded. "Fair enough. I would probably do the same in your place. But you have nothing to fear from me here. This is a sacred place. I won't befoul it with violence."

"How do you know who I am?"

The smile grew wider. "Ha! Who doesn't know Harry Potter?"

"And who are you?" Harry repeated.

The stranger gave a small bow. "Jervis Mulciber. My pleasure." Mulciber came closer, his gaze fixed on Harry. "I knew your father."

Harry hesitated. He knew so little about his parents… but this man didn't seem like the most trustworthy sort. Still…

"Did you? On a friendly basis, perhaps?"

Mulciber laughed. "Oh, Merlin no. He hated me. Not at first, of course. In the beginning, it was just a typical school rivalry. James was quite an opponent in the dueling circle. He abhorred losing."

"Nobody likes losing," Harry said.

"Quite right."

"So what did you do to make him hate you?"

Mulciber grinned in an unnervingly predatory manner. "I became a Death Eater."

Harry felt his stomach drop.

 _Death Eater…_

He was unarmed, alone with a Death Eater in a remote place. He would need a miracle to find a way out of this mess.

 _Just my fucking luck,_ he thought. _I should have stayed with Dumbledore, damn it!_

"You look terrible," Mulciber said. "Did you know your nose is broken? I imagine you may have failed to notice that when your hand is missing. You've splinched, I'm guessing. Painful."

"How did you find me?" Harry asked. "How did he know?"

"How did who know what?" Mulciber retorted. His amusement only made Harry tense up further.

"Voldemort," he snapped. "How did he know I was here?"

The Death Eater gave a quiet chuckle. "I doubt the Dark Lord knows you're here. He doesn't even know I'm here. And even if-"

Mulciber stopped mid-sentence, his hungry, taunting smile gone in a flash.

"We'll have to finish this some other time," he said and disappeared with a snap of apparition.

Harry spun around, searching for the reason of Mulciber's sudden departure. No more than a second could have passed before Dumbledore apparated several feet away. Relief mixed with dread flooded him.

"Professor," he said, exhaling deeply.

Dumbledore stood relaxed, hands clasped behind his back.

 _Even my miracles are strange._

"Harry," Dumbledore said. "It seems you have misplaced yourself again."

The silence that fell between them was heavy, suffocating. Harry opened his mouth to say something, anything, just to break it-

"I am so sorry, Harry."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Definitely not what he was expecting.

"You.. _You_ are sorry," he deadpanned. "Well, if we're starting with apologies, I'm sorry too."

"I assume you're referring to the Killing Curse you tried to cast at me," the Headmaster said. "It's quite alright. I understand why you did it."

"I… really don't know what to say now."

"You needn't say anything. In fact, I'll ask you to listen. I have more than one apology to make, but that can wait. Your hand needs taking care of."

Harry glanced down at wound – the primitive bandage was completely soaked and dripping blood on his shoes.

"This might sting a little," Dumbledore said.

"What-"

He received no further warning. His nose snapped with a sickening crunch and righted itself. Then his hand was set on fire – that was what it felt like, though there were no flames. The blood vanished, the wound wasn't bleeding anymore and then the pain was gone, replaced by a cool, smooth sensation.

"The Numbing Charm should help, but it's only a temporary measure. Your hand must be reattached at once. Why don't you take a seat there," Dumbledore said, pointing to a bench.

"Is it safe to stay here?"

"At the risk of sounding boastful, you have nothing to fear as long as I'm here. And reinforcements are coming."

"But why-"

"We can't risk magical travel in your state," Dumbledore explained, reaching into his robes. "Severus will perform a field procedure."

"Snape," Harry muttered in resignation. "Does it have to be him? Does the Order have no one else for this sort of thing?"

"There is indeed a Healer in our ranks, but he's quite busy at the moment. I'm afraid his responsibilities cannot be ignored."

Dumbledore produced what looked like a silver lighter from his robes, clicked it, and a bright orb flew out of it, casting soft light around. Not a minute later a series of apparition pops resounded and several Order members, Tonks among them, came into view. She and three others positioned themselves in a circle. Dumbledore walked up to her and they started talking in hushed tones.

Snape, arriving moments later, strode up to Harry carrying a small bag, the usual scowl on his face. Whipping out his wand, he summoned a stray pebble from the ground and transfigured it into a small table.

"Place your hand here," he ordered. He then tapped Harry's arm and the bandage flew off. Bleeding resumed as well. Snape then reached into the bag and retrieved a small bundle. Unwrapping it, he placed Harry's missing hand in front of the stump.

It was a bizarre sight.

"There are two ways to do this," Snape said. "I could leave the Numbing Charm in place, but the process will take longer. Or I can remove it, subjecting you to intense, short-lived pain and be done with it much faster."

"Take the spell off," Harry decided. "I'm accustomed to pain."

"I didn't say you had a choice, Potter," Snape said. Another tap of his wand and the pain returned. Harry grit his teeth. "We haven't the time to sit here and wait while you heal," Snape added. "Drink this."

The Potions Master handed him a vial of Skele-Gro. Harry glared at it. This was going to be terrible.

Grimacing at the awful taste, he downed the potion. Then Snape gave him another one.

"What is this?"

"Skele-Gro is slow-working on its own, as I'm sure you remember. This will speed up the process."

Skele-Gro was already taking effect and the long-forgotten feeling of having a million splinters lodged in his arm appeared as Harry grew more irritated with each passing second.

And then Snape presented yet another potion.

"And what is this for?" Harry demanded.

Snape glared, but indulged him. "One potion for the bone, one for soft tissue. Drink!"

On top of everything, a nagging itch developed in his arm. Harry went to scratch it out, but Snape spelled his other arm to snap to his side.

"It needs a minute to start working properly."

Harry doubted Snape would try anything purposefully nasty with Dumbledore around, but still couldn't help wondering if Snape wasn't just doing that to see him squirm.

Finally, he laid Harry's separated hand in front of his arm, so that they almost touched. He then conjured a cloth and held it to Harry's mouth.

"Bite down on that," he said. "I don't want to reattach your tongue as well."

Harry did as told and nodded. Snape pointed his wand at his arm and started chanting rapidly in some foreign-sounding language. Parts of the arm snapped together. Bone, muscle and skin moved and stretched, reconnecting.

Harry screamed through the cloth.

~~oOo~~

Hermione couldn't sleep.

With the recent events, she found herself wasting time, something that she normally tried to avoid at all costs. Time, she always told herself, was too precious to be spent on doing nothing. But she felt lost.

When Harry was staying with his relatives, her days had already been full of worry about him. Now Sirius was probably trapped somewhere in You-Know-Who's dungeon and Harry was... well, not here. It drained her vigour. She didn't care if everybody noticed, but it annoyed her that they wouldn't leave her alone.

Ron, who had apparently decided to become her shadow, was the first to suggest that 'maybe we could, erm, do something... you know, together'. Hermione just glared at him and asked why he wasn't worried about Harry and Sirius, when there was every reason to. He didn't answer, but at least he'd kept his mouth shut since then.

Mrs. Weasley had been more insisting, so Hermione compromised by eating whatever she put on her plate, four times a day. It seemed to keep her satisfied, for now.

Order members came and went throughout the next day and night, sometimes sharing some news, none of which, regrettably, had concerned Harry or Sirius so far. Professor Lupin tried to talk to her, but quickly gave up when she didn't answer – no doubt he had more important things to do than comforting a teenager and Hermione preferred it that way.

One person seemed utterly disinterested in her and, ironically, it intrigued Hermione enough to want to make an effort and find out why.

"Hey Ginny," she said quietly, sitting down next to her in the living room.

"Hey," Ginny said back. "Did you want something?"

Hermione didn't really know what to say. Why did she come here, exactly?

"I guess I wanted to thank you... for not pestering me, like others."

"I know you and Harry are close," Ginny said. "It's okay to be worried about him. And it's nobody else's business how you do the worrying."

"Thanks. Although..."

"Although what?" Ginny asked, not raising her eyes from the book she was reading.

"I don't know if we're that close anymore."

"What makes you say that?"

"He's been distant lately," Hermione said. "It started a while ago, just after the Tournament."

"He fought Voldemort," Ginny said simply. "He's probably still working it out."

"I know." Hermione's gaze slid across the book in Ginny's hands. "What are you reading?"

Ginny closed the book suddenly, startling Hermione. "Do you like him?"

Hermione blinked in confusion. "What do you-"

"Harry," Ginny said flatly. "Do you like him?"

"Of course I do," Hermione answered. "He's my-"

"Friend," Ginny interrupted again. "Of course. You know what I mean, Hermione. Stop dodging the question."

Hermione sunk deeper into the armchair. "It's a very personal question, Ginny. And you're being quite rude, to be honest."

"Because if you do," Ginny continued, "you should do something about it, before someone else decides you've had your chance and their patience runs out."

"Ginny, are you telling me you-"

"Yes. And I respect your friendship with Harry... But I think time has come for me to be more selfish."

With that, Ginny took her book and marched out of the room, not sparing Hermione another glance.

Hermione stared at Ginny's now empty chair. _What's gotten into her?_ She and Ginny weren't very close, but they were on good terms. Or had been, at least. _First Harry starts acting differently, then Ginny... I wonder when Ron decides that studying isn't a complete waste of time after all._

~~oOo~~

The Order members seemed nervous, though he couldn't tell if it was because of him. Had Dumbledore told them what happened?

He hoped not.

Tonks was particularly on edge, but he didn't get the chance to talk to her. As soon his hand was reattached – thankfully, it didn't take long – Dumbledore whisked him away in a whirl of apparition and soon they were in his Hogwarts office. The circular room looked as warm and welcoming as always. Fawkes greeted them with a cheerful trill from his perch. The portraits were snoozing in their frames, several were empty at the moment.

"You must be exhausted," Dumbledore said, "but there are some things that need to be said and I believe they shouldn't wait any longer."

"I thought it was impossible to apparate at Hogwarts, sir," Harry said, with an undercurrent of caution obvious in the tone of his voice. As much he wanted it, he couldn't believe that Dumbledore would just put the incident at his home behind them.

Dumbledore winked at him. "Being Headmaster has its perks. Why don't you sit down."

Harry did.

"Tea?"

"Um, why not."

One of the house elves popped in a moment later and soon Harry was cradling a cup of tea in his hands.

"Sir, what did you mean? In the cemetery?"

He risked looking Dumbledore in the eye.

Nothing.

He was daring the man to try, but the Headmaster merely looked on sadly.

"I feel... ashamed," Dumbledore began. "I've always considered myself to be a rather clever person, but even clever people can fall prey to simple human vices. Pride, fear... I wasn't above them. I'm telling you this, so that you understand. At the time of Voldemort's rise, I had already forgotten what war was like. Well, perhaps that's not the best way to put it... I remembered the second World War and dueling Gellert Grindelwald, but thirty years of peace have lulled me into a false sense of safety, like many others. I was finally free to pursue my interests and I thought fighting was over for me. I was wrong."

"You see, even at its worst, Grindelwald's war never truly reached our shores. Most of the fighting took place on the continent. Compared to France, for example, Britain was quite safe. That's one of the reasons why our diplomatic relations with the French have been on the cold side ever since - our leaders at the time decided not to get involved and refused help beyond the most basic humanitarian efforts. Even I only intervened when it was obvious that things have taken a worse turn for Gellert and his allies. Still, I did my part – Gellert was captured and imprisoned in a fortress he built himself."

"Voldemort... was different than his predecessor. He operated in more subtle ways, being ill-suited for open warfare. Years passed before we even noticed something was happening. Voldemort predicted that, of course, and acted decisively – we were just beginning to mount a defense while he was ready to launch an assault. But that's enough history for the moment."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, rested his forehead on his hands and sighed heavily. Harry looked away. He didn't know if he should say something and seeing Dumbledore like this, _vulnerable…_ It didn't seem right to stare at him right then.

"I feel ashamed because I was the one to bring Voldemort into our world," Dumbledore continued after a long silence. "I can't help but feel responsible when it was my inaction that pushed Tom Riddle onto a Dark path. It is a burden I shall carry even if he is defeated."

"Pardon me, Professor, but what does all of that have to do with me?" Harry asked.

"I said earlier that you and Voldemort were alike and I stand by that statement."

Harry bristled. "I'm _not_ like Voldemort."

"The suggestion offends you, because when you look at Voldemort, you see a powerful Dark Lord, willing to murder infants to achieve his goals. But I knew Voldemort before he became like that. If you had seen what I have, you'd understand. I have never met two people so different and yet so alike."

Harry almost blurted out a rebuttal - he had seen more of Voldemort than Dumbledore could possible know, and there was nothing redeeming about him.

"You are both halfbloods, orphaned at a young age. You both grew up in... difficult environments. You're both scions of powerful bloodlines and talented wizards yourselves. Each of you commands respect of others. And like Voldemort, you possess a certain charisma, though his is exercised differently. Most importantly, however, you were both forced to make difficult choices very early into your lives. More often than not, there were no good options to choose from – only greater and lesser evils. The difference between you is that Tom Riddle was refused help – by myself, no less. I let myself be held back by my superiors... Instead of doing the right thing, I chose what was easy."

"When you entered this school, Harry, I was reminded of my failure with Tom every time I looked at you. I was determined to avoid making the same mistake again, which, with the prophecy in place, could become my greatest one yet. And that is why I owe you an apology."

Harry sank into the chair, thoughts running wild, but feeling void of all emotion.

"I've never been very eloquent," he said, "but now I find myself more speechless than I thought was possible."

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand the reason behind your rather spectacular escape from my house. Facing Voldemort in his true form must have been quite a terrifying eye-opener. I cannot fault you for seeking a way to bridge the gap. I just wish you had come to me before probing the Dark Lord's mind. Dark Arts are powerful, but they're hardly 'the power he knows not'."

"So what now?" Harry asked cautiously. "Do we just... forget what happened? Move on?"

"I admit that I am not blameless," Dumbledore said. "In fact, you could argue that most of the blame falls on me and you wouldn't be wrong."

"I- it was the heat of the moment, but… I tried to kill you," said Harry, guilt mixing with uncertainty.

"Your inability to summon your Patronus and successful casting of Fiendfyre also fit into that explanation, as well your... erratic behavior. Dark Arts are feared for a good reason, Harry. Dark magic affects the mind. Many ambitious witches and wizards sacrificed their sanity for power that it promised."

"Are you telling me I'm going insane?" Harry asked flatly.

"Not at all," the Headmaster replied. "It would take considerable effort on your part to reach that stage. You are, however, beyond the point of no return."

"That's... ominous."

"Your connection to Voldemort must have quickened the process," Dumbledore mused. "I fear that from now on, you shall have to rely on fire to drive off dementors. Some kinds of magic, like the Patronus Charm, are lost to you." Dumbledore gave him a serious look. "You don't seem surprised."

"I was in Voldemort's head, Professor," Harry said. "I knew what I was getting into. Mostly."

Harry fought with himself over his next question.

"Have you never used Dark Arts yourself?"

Dumbledore's fingers formed a series of steep arcs. "No. I have never dabbled in Dark magic. I came close in my youth, but… certain events turned me away from it. The Killing Curse is one of its worst manifestations. To be completely honest, I didn't think you capable of casting it successfully, even after your display with Fiendfyre two days ago."

"What about Moody?" Harry blurted out. "He demonstrated it last year in class."

"You know that was an impostor," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, but wouldn't that have been a clue that something was wrong with him, when he started using Dark magic in front of students?" Harry demanded. "Crouch wasn't stupid - he wouldn't have compromised himself like that."

"True," Dumbledore admitted. "Alastor has extensive experience with some aspects of Dark magic – like some other Aurors who fought in the last war. Miss Tonks, on the other hand, could probably give you a nosebleed if she really tried."

Harry stared into his cup of tea.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently. "You look like you want to say something."

"Dark magic," Harry snapped. "You make it sound like it's the worst thing in the world."

"I wouldn't go that far… in fact, many healing spells used today have their roots in Dark Arts. But their reputation is well-earned. Dark magic is dangerous."

"I could burn a man to death with a Fire Charm if I wanted to," Harry argued. "Doesn't that make it Dark magic as well?"

"It's a common mistake," Dumbledore said, "to discard the concept of inherently Dark magic when there are many seemingly harmless spells that one could use in a harmful manner."

"Why is it a mistake? It makes sense to me," Harry said. "I could use the Banishing Charm to slam someone into a wall. I could use the Locking Charm to trap someone in a box and throw it into the sea. I could-"

"I see your point, Harry. You're not the first to bring it up," Dumbledore said. "Allow me to elaborate. It's true that there are many ways to maim or even kill someone with magic not traditionally used for those purposes. But let's reverse the situation. What other application can you think of for the Killing Curse, other than the obvious?"

"There is a difference between killing and murder," Harry said. "The Killing Curse is supposed to be painless... It could be used to putting terminally ill out of their misery."

Dumbledore stayed silent.

"What?" Harry asked irritably.

"So you are unable to name another use for the Killing Curse besides taking a life."

"Killing isn't always wrong," Harry insisted.

"There are worse things than death, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "But the Killing Curse does more than its name implies. It separates a soul from the body - tears the two apart. Parting of body and soul in any way that isn't natural is a terrible thing."

"The Imperius Curse," Harry tried again. "I know how it feels. It could be used to ease pain."

"Yes, the feeling is quite pleasant," Dumbledore said. "As long as you don't fight it. Then it becomes rather uncomfortable, doesn't it?"

"That's not-"

"The relief comes at the price of one's free will."

"You're twisting my words!"

"If you were in pain, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "would you consent to having your will taken from you, just to ease the suffering?"

Harry cringed. _No,_ he thought. _I wouldn't._

Dumbledore had a point.

"You must understand," the Headmaster urged, "that there are kinds of magic that can serve many purposes. But there are some whose only purpose is to cause damage and harm."

"But even harmful magic has its place," Harry said.

"Does it?" Dumbledore asked. "If, as you said, there are ways to hurt your opponents without resorting to Dark magic, why do we need it?"

Harry looked away. He had to admit that Dumbledore was winning that debate.

"Dark magic," Harry tried, "has an appeal. You can't blame-"

"Blame you for giving into it?" Dumbledore interrupted.

Harry glared at him. "We're not talking about me."

"I thought we were."

"You thought wrong!"

Harry bolted up from the chair and paced around for a moment, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. What was he supposed to say?

"Look, Professor, the last few months have been really stressful. Yes, I cast the Killing Curse, but you invaded my mind, you tried to tear all my secrets… You took your guilt out on me. I know that we need to work together, but my mind is the last bastion I have left. You can't expect me to just surrender it."

"Agreed," Dumbledore said. "Emotions ran high and we both did things we shouldn't have. But I still must ask you to tell me what you saw in Voldemort's mind."

Harry thought about it for a moment. He could tell Dumbledore what he saw, in the vaguest terms... but nothing more.

"I saw… a fortress. Nurmengard. I heard the name 'Grindelwald' and the word 'horcrux'…"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I hardly think that's all. You've been at it all summer."

"I learned a bit about Dark Arts-"

"A bit is not sufficient to use Fiendfyre, Harry."

"Can I just say something before you judge me further?" Harry asked. "In the graveyard... I was completely outmatched. If not for the _Priori Incantatem_ effect, I would be _dead."_

"I am not judging you," Dumbledore said. "I understand why you did what you did. But you must also understand… Dark magic leaves a mark on one's soul. You are still a student in this school and I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't warn you of the danger it poses. And Harry… feeling outmatched by Lord Voldemort is nothing to be ashamed of. He has few equals and no real betters."

"He has his Death Eaters. I'm sure any of them could wipe the floor with me."

"I think you're scared and you underestimate yourself. But yes, Voldemort's veteran followers are all adult wizards in the prime of their lives," the Headmaster replied. "You're very young, Harry. You could hardly be expected to duel grown wizards."

"SO WHAT?" Harry yelled. "So what if I'm only fifteen, only a kid? It just makes me feel even more helpless and _I hate. Being. Helpless._ I _hate_ having to rely on others. My whole life before Hogwarts, I could only count on myself. And then magic comes along, and Voldemort and little shits like Malfoy, whose only goal in life is to make mine miserable, all because of some vague, stupid prophecy!"

"Fate is often unkind," Dumbledore said. "We must make the best of what life offers us."

"Well then fuck fate!" Harry snarled. "And fuck the stupid prophecy, and fuck you too. You put so much faith in it, expect me to deal with Voldemort, but when I try do something to even the odds, you lock me up, get in my head and blame me for everything! You know, sometimes I wish that stupid letter had never come. I was just starting to get a hang of the muggle world, and then-"

"Harry, please!" Dumbledore's voice struck like a whip. "Control yourself."

"Easy for you to say!"

"I understand better than most what is being asked of you, believe me," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps even better than you do yourself."

"If I am to fight, I have to cheat," Harry argued. "I can't win that by obeying all the rules the good guys follow. Voldemort won't wait forty years until I'm ready. And Dark magic is powerful."

"It is," Dumbledore agreed. "It can grant power to the weak and it will do so quickly, but the price one must pay for that power is not something to be taken lightly. You've already paid some of it and if you insist on studying Dark Arts further, I cannot presume to know what else you'll have to give up."

"It's my decision," Harry said. "I'll pay the price, if that's what it takes."

Dumbledore regarded him seriously. "You're right about one thing. It is your decision. And it's too late to change your mind... even if you wanted to."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You said it yourself, Harry. Dark magic has an appeal - it is almost irresistible. At the very least, if you're going to study it, you shall do so sensibly, with the right teachers. But we can discuss that later. There is still the matter of your connection to Voldemort."

"It won't be a problem," Harry interrupted.

"Forgive me, Harry, but I require concrete proof. I trust you. I don't trust Voldemort."

"Very well. Cards on the table," Harry said. "I knew where and when Wormtail would be, because _I_ sent him there."

 _I'm sure you can figure that out._

Dumbledore stared at him blankly for a moment and then his eyes came alight with a mischievous twinkle. "I can only imagine how displeased Voldemort must have been to find himself... out of control."

"He shut the connection down himself."

The twinkle died. "Once again, Harry, you've shown the ability to think on your feet. Voldemort has once again underestimated you... But he's not the only prone to repeating that particular mistake."

A sudden, unexplained feeling of dread settled in Harry's stomach. "What are you saying, Professor?"

"I regret to inform you that Sirius has been captured."


	7. CHAPTER TWO: Games, Part 2

**CHAPTER TWO: Games**

 **Part 2**

Sirius sat in the darkest corner of his cell, as he used to do during his time in Azkaban. He would sit, unmoving, his mind wandering. At least now he had something to occupy his hands with.

The necklace. He found it several months ago, when he'd decided to go and inspect his family home. He had found Grimmauld Place abandoned, except for Kreacher, who spent his days catering to Walburga's portrait's every whim and mourning Regulus.

Ah yes, Regulus. He had been his parents' favorite, a proper pureblood – proper Black. Regulus paid attention during their tutoring sessions and was ever eager to please their mother. He would always learn the dance steps first and enjoyed hearing about the exploits of House Black. There were very few people Sirius held in more contempt. Voldemort. Wormtail. Severus bloody Snape.

Like many others, Regulus had been enamored with Voldemort's vision of a bright future and the promise of prosperity for witches and wizards everywhere – save for mudbloods, of course. He joined the Death Eaters while still at Hogwarts. Sirius was already tearing his way through the Auror training program with James and Remus. It didn't matter, back then, that Moony was a werewolf – the Ministry needed every willing man and woman to bolster their ranks. They weren't going to turn away a talented duelist, not when so many of them were serving Voldemort. Old Milicent Bagnold was batshit crazy, but a decent human being. No wonder they pushed her out after the war.

Regulus wasn't about to be outdone by his brother - he'd been Voldemort's informant at Hogwarts, in Snape's place. Sirius never believed that he had seen the error of his ways and attempted to defect to Dumbledore's side – there was no evidence to support the rumours, apart from vague statements made by some of the convicted Death Eaters. Hardly compelling witnesses.

So when he returned to Grimmauld Place, he stormed into his brother's old bedroom and wrecked it – he'd torn a scaled-down version of the family tree off the wall, broke the mahogany desk in half and reduced the bed sheets to feathers. He'd piled the clothes, a Death Eater's robes and mask among them, on the floor and burned everything to fine ash, fueling the fire with anything that looked remotely flammable.

And then he found it.

It had been hidden in a well-warded drawer of the ruined desk. A gold pendant, embedded with an 'S' made of tiny green gemstones, hanging from a matching, finely crafted chain. He wanted to destroy it as well, melt the metal and leave it there, in a scorching puddle. But he couldn't.

It was filled with magic, Dark magic. Sirius had never seen anything like it. He knew, rationally, that not destroying it was probably a bad idea, but he couldn't bring himself to doing it.

He took the locket for himself. He had it on his person at all times. Even in the shower, the gold glittered around his neck. Sirius hungrily drank the magic it contained.

When it wasn't on his neck, he had it in a pocket somewhere. He had it on when he met Harry in the cave outside Hogsmeade and when he guarded his godson in the hospital wing at Hogwarts after the Third Task. He had it with him now.

Eventually, Sirius realized that the necklace wasn't just a well of magic. It held knowledge as well, knowledge of some of the nastiest, Darkest magic there was. A normal person would be appalled by it. Dark magic was a strange beast - ugly on the outside, but the deeper you went, the more intriguing and alluring it became, the more it pulled you in and before you knew it, you couldn't go on without it. It was an addiction of the worst kind, because there was no going back, under any circumstances, and you had no choice but to satiate the burning hunger for more or lose your mind.

When he started receiving memories from it - incomplete, just images and sounds and smells - Sirius felt like freaking out was the reasonable thing to do, especially since the artifact had stopped only giving and started taking. But, of course, he still kept the locket, because he was just that stubborn - or perhaps the artifact's magic had too strong a grasp on him by then.

Slowly, it attempted to chip away Sirius' personality, as if it wanted to supplement his very soul for that of its creator. Well, Sirius decided he'd be damned before he gave in. If there was one positive thing about having spent twelve years in Azkaban, it was that life in prison had hardened him. He wasn't going to let a piece of jewelry succeed where Azkaban had failed.

Assimilating the Dark magic wasn't as taxing for him as, he suspected, it would have been for someone like James, who'd been born into a family who only saw the bad side of Dark Arts and brought up to revere Albus Dumbledore as the paragon of goodness. It was one James' few truly annoying qualities: the black and white view of Dark magic had been ingrained in him to such a degree that he refused to have anything to do with it. This difference of opinions had been the reason behind their falling out in sixth year. Peter stuck by James, as he always had. Remus had more than a passing interest in some aspects of Dark Arts and Sirius was happy to indulge him. It almost tore them apart.

Almost. In the end, their friendship survived and was strengthened by this experience. Still, James never came around on the issue. Sirius often thought that perhaps if he had approached the debate with a cooler head, he could have succeeded and introduced James to some of the subtler aspects of Dark Arts, but he never got the chance before they graduated and after Hogwarts, war was the only thing on their minds.

Sirius hated what was left of his own family with a passion for what they had made him endure, but he was a Black through and through and Blacks were named such for a reason.

Not without difficulty, he prevailed. There had been some close calls, but in the end, he managed to tip the scales in his favour permanently. He still had to be on his guard, of course.

He'd asked himself countless times – should he tell Dumbledore? Or Harry, perhaps? Maybe Remus? But the answer was always the same.

Absolutely fucking no.

It would be an insane thing to do – he doubted convincing anyone that his decision to keep the locket had been the right one was even possible. Especially Harry, who must hate Voldemort more than anyone else, or Dumbledore, who'd never even touched Dark magic. He would be in St. Mungo's Ward for the Unhinged and Otherwise Mentally Impaired before he could explain anything further.

He didn't want to part with the locket, however, so he hid it in plain sight. To everyone else, it appeared as the Black Family Seal on a silver chain. The actual Ring sat, invisible, on his finger, as it was supposed to. Initially he feared that Dumbledore or Moody might see through the spell, but thankfully, they hadn't. In Grimmauld Place, the house's magic strengthened that of its Master.

Now, in the darkness of his cell, Sirius sat, opening and closing the locket, over and over again. Barely anything was left in it still. He predicted it would be drained completely within days, if not hours. It was a good thing, he thought. When the process was complete, he could destroy the locket and none would be the wiser.

In the several hours that had passed since his capture – he was furious with himself for getting caught by Peter of all people – the Dark Lord had been to see him only once. When he came, Sirius stashed the locket in the corner of the cell, where a piece of stonework had been chipped away.

Voldemort did not taunt or torture him. He merely stared at him passively, and Sirius stared back. That silent contest went on for several excruciatingly long minutes, until the Dark Lord looked away, a bored expression on his face, and spoke in a tone one might use when discussing weather.

"I am willing to give you a chance to join my ranks, Master Black."

"Why, that is awfully generous of you," Sirius said. "But no."

"You are a talented wizard," Voldemort continued. "And correct me if I'm mistaken, but there have been rumours that you used to be one of my most trusted lieutenants. My right hand, in fact." He paused and his crimson eyes flashed a dark red. "Who knows – if you prove as skilled as my Death Eaters claim you are, the rumours could cease just being such."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Which part of the word 'no' did you not understand? It's just two letters."

"I tell you this in confidence… you intrigue me." A hint of amusement could be heard in the Dark Lord's voice. "Rarely do I meet people who don't quiver in fear at the mere sight of me."

"You must be associating with the wrong people then," Sirius replied. "There are plenty of those who don't deflate when some wanker glares at them. I've always thought that Death Eaters were twats – hiding behind masks and all that. Now I know why."

Voldemort let the insult slide. "Perhaps I haven't made myself clear, Black. You are being given a choice – join me willingly... or not."

"Not join you, or not willingly?"

"You regard yourself as witty and amusing, don't you, Master Black."

"Well, you seem amused," Sirius pointed out. "So I'd say my high opinion of myself is rather justified."

Voldemort was silent for a moment.

"We shall talk again soon," he said at last, and left.

Since then, Sirius had seen no one. His food – a surprisingly delicious stew – appeared magically, along with a pint of beer.

Out of habit, he muttered detection spells over the meal, finding both free of poison. Well, he wasn't going to say no to a tasty stew. He would need his strength for the escape.

~~oOo~~

Mulciber was breathing deeply, steadily, focusing on his mental defences. Being a Dark Arts practitioner, Occlumency was really the only way for him to ward off the dementors' debilitating aura. Fire could drive them away, but it did nothing to protect against their magic. Not that he had much too fear, honestly – dementors had worked with the Dark Lord in the past and Death Eaters had walked among them freely. Dementors were natural allies for someone like the Dark Lord. Death Eaters didn't need to fear for their souls, but a dementor can't just 'turn off' their magic. Fortunately, they could protect themselves well enough to be able to eliminate the dementors' influence almost entirely. Personally, Mulciber didn't mind a chill – it kept him on his toes.

Next to him, Greyback seemed much more at ease. Not surprising. One of the benefits of the curse was near-complete resistance to magic that affected the mind. It was impossible for all but the most skilled wizards to successfully cast an Imperius Curse or a Memory Charm on a werewolf, which made them prized allies and terrifying enemies. Greyback took that further than almost any other werewolf by embracing his bestial side. He now retained some of the wolfish features the entire time. Those huge claws had to be damn inconvenient with tasks requiring some sleight of hand, but they surely came in handy when he wanted to rip someone's throat out.

They watched three dementors approach the cliff slowly from the open sea, their skeletal arms hanging limply down. Once the two delegations were within twenty feet of each other, Mulciber pulled out a small stone inscribed with several runes. Such stones were used by Aurors stationed at Azkaban to communicate with dementors. While they could understand human speech, this little trinket interpreted and projected the dementor's words into the user's mind. Azkaban guards carried them on their persons at all times. Mulciber tapped it with his wand.

 _"Pretati."_ He felt the enchantment activate as tendrils of magic extended from the stone onto his gloved hand.

"The Dark Lord sends his regards," he said. "We are here to receive your answer."

The dementor at the front floated closer and Mulciber instinctively fingered his wand. Natural allies or not, they still made him uneasy.

 _We have decided to take his offer,_ the dementor spoke, _as long as he can provide new prisoners._

Dementors were always hungry and the promise of fresh sources of memories to be consumed was the Dark Lord's side of the deal. There would be no shortage of enemies in need of an Azkaban sentence once he was in power.

"He will," Mulciber said. "The Dark Lord keeps his word."

 _Then he is free to come. There will be no interference from us._

"No interference is good, but we talked about something more," Mulciber said. "We need you to clear out of the fortress before the attack and stay away until the battle is done. Our forces will need to focus on the enemy, not defending against your magic."

 _So we agreed, and so it will be._

"From now on, keep one of you stationed here at all times," Mulciber instructed. "I will come personally on night of the attack to give the signal. We're not sure when it will happen, but it should be soon."

The dementor gave no verbal answer, but nodded. Two of them then turned and left while one remained, its tattered cloak billowing in the harsh wind. Mulciber tapped the stone again.

 _"Finite."_

Greyback bared his canines in a deep growl.

"Dementors," he spat, once they were far away enough. "They have their uses, but I don't like them."

"Nobody does," Mulciber said. "But we need them. They could pose a serious problem if they decided to side with the Ministry. As you might recall, the Patronus Charm is a rare skill among us."

The werewolf grunted in what Mulciber assumed was agreement.

"Are your men ready?" he asked. "The order can come any day now. It could come the moment we get back, for all we know."

"They're ready. Worry about your own."

"Believe me, I do. Not having to keep appearances in the society, I've been assigned to field work – which I prefer – but I can't for the life of me imagine why I was told to overlook the new recruits as well. I'm no teacher. Best I can do is pitch them against superior opponents and hope they learn something."

"Yeah? How's that going?"

"They're useless," Mulciber said, irritated. "The curriculum at Hogwarts has been a joke ever since the Dark Lord cursed the Defence position and most people, especially in the younger generation, have no inclinations to self-study. They leave Hogwarts with only the most basic knowledge of more refined magic and zero dueling skill. I'll admit that I'm hardly an objective observer, but I can't see more than a few ever matching those of us in the Inner Circle."

"What about Malfoy's son? He any good?"

"He's not hopeless," Mulciber admitted, "but it'll be some time before he gets anywhere near Lucius' level at his age. He might never surpass his father. Lucius is a rare talent. Then again, he has always pushed himself. Some of the old guard truly frighten me."

"Is that right?" Greyback gave a throaty chuckle. "What's wrong with them, now?"

"They've become complacent. Most haven't seen combat in over a decade and even those who dueled on occasion have lost their edge. It'll be months before they regain it and I'm not sure they have that long to prepare. Fortunately, enough have kept busy to keep everything from falling apart until the others get back in shape."

"And you say you're better than them?" Greyback challenged. "You haven't been sitting on your arse?"

"Fenrir, you old dog, I thought you knew me better than that. I wasn't raised in a pureblood home with traditions, even though I should have been" Mulciber said. "My mother just happened to not be a mudblood and that's probably why my father even noticed her. He refused to have anything to do with her or me after I was born."

Mulciber knew Greyback sympathised with him, as much as the werewolf was capable of empathy. Having been abandoned by his parents after being bitten, he held a resentment toward people who didn't take care of their children. His pack consisted of dropouts and orphans. He cared about their well-being, in a twisted sort of way.

"So, after the Dark Lord vanished, I left the country. I had no money to pay off the Ministry and be able to claim I had been bewitched. I did some odd jobs. Bounty hunting, mostly."

"I never heard that," Greyback commented. "About your father. Almost everyone assumed you were of Malfoy's sort."

"You're thinking about my half-brother. I understand your confusion, seeing as he's dead."

"Ah. How'd that happen?"

Mulciber grinned. "Slowly and painfully."

~~oOo~~

The second visit he received in the dark dungeon wasn't from Voldemort, but from that rat, Peter.

"You shall dine with the Dark Lord tonight," Wormtail informed him. Sirius could have sworn he heard a pang of jealousy in his voice.

"He's inviting me to dinner? I'm flattered, really… I mean, I'm sure that underneath that pallor and striking lack of a nose he's a perfectly nice bloke, but I don't swing that way. And we've only just met."

Wormtail glowered. "In an hour, you will be escorted to a bathroom, where you will wash."

Sirius laughed. "It's getting interesting. Do continue."

"There will be robes waiting for you. Then you shall join the Dark Lord in the dining room."

"There's a dining room in Voldemort's secret lair? Well, I never."

But Peter had already left.

Within an hour, he came back, with additional escort in the form of two hooded Death Eaters.

"Get up," Wormtail ordered. "Move away from the bars and face the wall. Put your hands above your head where I can see them."

Having stashed the locket in its improvised hiding spot earlier, Sirius obeyed. He really wasn't able to do anything else until he could get his hands on a wand, preferably his own.

One of the Death Eaters kept a wand pointed at him while the other shackled his hands behind his back with magic-inhibiting cuffs. Sirius tensed and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, as the enchantments kicked in. Clever bastards.

They tied a black cloth around his eyes and led him through the building, leaving it to himself to watch out for stairs. He swore every time he tripped.

Eventually, they arrived wherever it was they were going. It turned out to be a spacious room, stripped of furniture and decorations. Just bare walls and a wood-paneled floor. There were two huge windows and two doors – one leading out into the hallway and the other, Sirius concluded, to the bathroom.

Wormtail chucked a bundle of clothing and a pair of shoes at him, pointed at the door, and snarled, "You have fifteen minutes."

Sirius raised a challenging eyebrow. "And what happens after fifteen minutes?"

"I will drag you out of there myself."

Sirius hurried inside – he had no intention of letting Peter seeing him in the nude. Then again, what guarantee was there that the rat wouldn't barge in after thirteen and a half minutes? Or eleven?

He showered quickly, bemoaning the lack of windows and any useful objects he could have nicked from the bathroom. Voldemort had covered all bases.

Fortunately, Peter kept his promise of fifteen minutes and Sirius emerged from the bathroom moments before the time was up.

"I must say, those charmed towels were a really nice touch."

"Blindfold," was Peter's response, and directed at one of the other Death Eaters.

Sirius made it a point to sigh overtly. "Is this really necessary?"

"Shut up," Peter snapped.

Shortly, they had arrived at their destination and the blindfold was taken away again. Sirius smoothed out the moderately-presentable robe – it wasn't too bad, but he preferred his own.

Wormtail and his friends vacated the room, locking the door behind them and then Voldemort strode in.

"Master Black," he greeted in a perfectly polite manner.

"You really don't need to call me that, you know," Sirius told him. "Master – it doesn't suit me. Just Sirius is fine."

One corner of Voldemort's lipless mouth twitched. They sat at the opposing ends of a long table that could sit twenty people with ease. Through enormous western windows, the last glimpse of a sunset could be seen.

Sirius sat down and so did Voldemort. The Dark Lord clapped his hands and an array of dishes appeared in front of each of them.

"You actually eat human food?" Sirius asked with genuine interest.

Voldemort smiled above a glass of wine. "Why wouldn't I? I am human."

Sirius' eyebrows joined in a deep frown. "I had thought… you know, that maybe you survived on the blood of virgins, or something like that. I haven't met many Dark Lords who looked like you."

"And how many have you met, Sirius?"

"Just you," he admitted. "But Dumbledore once told me that despite being a complete rotten bastard, Grindelwald looked, well, normal. He looked his age. Sixty-something."

"Grindelwald." Voldemort repeated the name slowly. "Yes, he was cruel. But he wasn't mad, like so many claim – or a monster."

"What was he, then?"

The Dark Lord's eyes glinted a dangerous red. "Defeated."

Sirius clinked the fork against his plate. "You have a point. History is written by the victors. If that duel fifty years ago had gone the other way, we would all be indoctrinated little Nazis, toiling for the greater good of humankind and Dumbledore would be the big bad wizard."

"How do you find dinner, Sirius?" Voldemort asked, as if they were two best friends.

"Not bad. I've had better, but I guess I can't fault you for not hiring the best chef in the British Isles."

"Those are… interesting spells you're whispering."

Sirius took a sip of wine. "Poison detection. Forgive me if I don't take your hospitality for granted. Force of habit."

"I am not offended," Voldemort said calmly.

"Oh, good."

"I was merely curious. It is good to see that you haven't forgotten who you are, despite your… poor choice of acquaintances."

"I think it's a sad reality where I have to check food for poison just to make sure I will be able to get up from the table after the meal," Sirius retorted.

"You're a pureblood wizard, Black," Voldemort said. "Even something as trivial as the lessons pureblood children receive in their youth is a part of your heritage. Do you not take pride in it?"

"I won't deny that money and social standing are good things to have... Well, scratch the social standing part for the moment," Sirius said thoughtfully. "But I'd be just as happy as a rich and handsome muggleborn. Maybe happier."

"Is that so?"

"My mother hated me," Sirius said with an exaggerated shrug. "That made for a crappy childhood. And then there were twelve years in bloody Azkaban."

"You are a scion of an old, respected family-"

"Old, certainly. And in some circles, respected," Sirius interrupted. "That's more than you can say, isn't it?"

A shade of anger crossed Voldemort's face – and then it was gone, his cool restraint back in place. "Whatever do you mean by that, Master Black?"

"Again with the Master business." Sirius sighed. "I told you-"

 _"I asked,"_ Voldemort said through gritted teeth, "what you meant by your comment."

There was a pause. Sirius wondered if he shouldn't stop now, while he was still relatively unscathed, but what guarantee did he have that his good health depended only on Voldemort's mood? Resolving to stay on course, he continued.

"You've always advertised the fact that you were the Heir of Slytherin," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "Any pureblood knows how the line of Salazar Slytherin progressed through the ages. The latest mention was of the remnants of the Gaunt family. I know for a fact," Sirius raised a finger, "that your Death Eaters take you for the son of Merope and Morfin Gaunt. The dates click and the Gaunts had been marrying their own siblings for several generations before you – to keep the blood pure. That's why some purebloods were reluctant to join you the first time. Every old family did some marriages between cousins at one point or another, but incest is the one line that the saner of us never crossed."

Sirius had to admire Voldemort's self-control. He was openly baiting him, after all. It wasn't perhaps the smartest thing to do, but he really couldn't help himself.

"So," Voldemort said smoothly, "you claim that my followers think me an inbred whelp."

Sirius put down the fork and knife and leaned back. "That's the gist of it, yeah."

"I see," the Dark Lord hissed, "that I have taken the wrong approach with you, Black."

Sirius cringed. Ah, damn.

~~oOo~~

"Everything is settled, then."

"Indeed." Dolores Umbridge rose from her seat. "Lucius Malfoy delivered on his promise. The Board of Governors approved my appointment as the Defence instructor next term."

"You know how important this is, Dolores," Fudge said. "We need to contain the situation. It is imperative that I know what goes on at Hogwarts. The warlocks are beginning to question some of my policies. We can't afford to be uninformed any longer."

"Absolutely, Minister." She collected the paperwork and left, passing Scrimgeour in the door. He cast a disgusted look at the Senior Undersecretary. His dislike for her was widely known; many mid- to high-ranking employees shared this opinion.

"I know what you're thinking, Rufus," Fudge said loudly when the door closed behind his Undersecretary. "You've made your opinion known many times in the past."

"And I stand by it," Scrimgeour retorted. "Honestly, Cornelius, I cannot comprehend why you keep her around. That woman is despicable and a menace. She does more harm than good."

"She possesses certain skills that I value very much," the Minister replied. "And many people agree with me."

"Nevermind. Any time spent talking about Dolores Umbridge is time wasted. I have some reports I think you should take a look at."

Fudge groaned with frustration. "As if didn't have enough problems already..."

"There's no real problem – yet. But there are reasons for concern."

"Well?"

"Greyback."

The Minister's eyes narrowed as he accepted a folder from Scrimgeour. "Is this about the Registration Act amendment?"

"Possibly. We've observed increased werewolf activity all over the country and within communities abroad, especially in Ireland and France. Even the foreign werewolves are protesting. They fear this legislation might push other European governments into passing similar laws."

"Do you think I should veto it?" Fudge asked. "We can't afford a werewolf revolt in the current state of affairs."

"Your Undersecretary spearheaded the Registration Act four years ago and the amendment was her idea as well," Scrimgeour said flatly. "I think you already know my opinion."

Scrimgeour had been a staunch opponent of the original law. While he agreed that some form of government-sanctioned control was necessary, he protested categorising werewolves as Dark creatures.

"They're people," he'd argued then. "This law will come back to haunt you someday, I'm telling you."

Fudge had supported the bill more as a favour to Dolores, who had helped with his campaign, than for any ideological reason. The consensus at the time had been that some of the proposed regulations were a bit constrictive, but it wouldn't matter in the greater scope of things. Werewolves were such a small portion of the population...

They had sorely underestimated them.

"Alright," Fudge said at last. "Yes, I agree that the amendment is quite... extreme. But I'll have to talk to Dolores first. I can't just go behind her back like that."

"Do what you think is best, Cornelius. Part of my job is to advise you and you've just been advised."

"I did actually make some inquires, you know," Fudge said. "I even wrote Amelia, but she returned my letter unopened."

"Hardly surprising. That farce of a trial was a mistake, and you know it."

"Yes, yes, I made a mistake!" Fudge erupted. "But I can't just revoke my decision. I start doing that, I might as well hand the Ministry over to Dumbledore!"

"I'm not sure what I've done to deserve you taking your frustration out on me," Scrimgeour said dryly.

Fudge leaned back into his chair. "I apologise, Rufus. The last few days have been difficult. Is there anything else?"

Scrimgeour presented another file. "There's unrest in Azkaban. Dementors seem unusually excited, almost as if they're waiting for something. They've been paying less attention to the prisoners and they, in turn, have been quite vocal about the quality of food, among other things."

"Oh, bother," Fudge muttered. "Any idea what's happening?"

"Not yet, but I'm looking into it."

"Very well. Keep me informed."

"Of course." Scrimgeour collected the reports and promptly left.

Fudge pressed a button on a panel to his left. "Weasley, is there anything left on the schedule?"

His assistant's voice emerged from the speaker as clear as if he were standing right next to him. "You have the last meeting of the day, sir, with Directors Plateau and Crouch, in ten minutes. Will you be receiving them in your office?"

"Oh Merlin, no," the Minister said. "I need to get out of here. Inform them that we shall meet in the Cabinet Room. And please tell the cafeteria to send up some refreshments."

"Right away, sir."

Both men were already waiting for him when he walked in.

"Marcus," he greeted the Director of Finance.

"Minister."

Despite being in charge of one of the more influential Departments, Marcus Plateau was better known for being Keira Zabini's eighth husband. Fans of conspiracy theories speculated that he'd had found a way to reign in the 'black widow'. Fudge dismissed any such rumors. Not because he had evidence to disprove the claims against Mrs. Zabini (who famously kept her maiden name) but because he wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth.

Crouch didn't speak, merely inclined his head. The Chief of Diplomacy returned to work shortly after the ordeal culminating in his near murder at the hands of his own disgraced son, who had somehow escaped Azkaban. In hindsight, Fudge regretted his decision to have the man Kissed on the spot - a dead man couldn't testify and Bartemius had been tight-lipped about the whole affair. Even with his reputation as unsteady as it was, he remained surprisingly effective at his job.

"Barty," Cornelius said and nodded. "You look tired." His observation was left without comment. "Marcus, what's the news?"

Plateau cleared his throat. "Technically, Cresswell should be here as well, since this concerns the goblins to an extent, but he's been working himself crazy and I don't blame him for taking the day off."

"Goblins?" Fudge almost dropped the cup of tea he was pouring himself. "If there's an issue with them, it would've become apparent some time ago. Why wasn't I informed earlier?"

"Because it didn't look important," Marcus replied. "However, things have escalated in the last few days. They are protesting certain financial operations being conducted. Some of the account holders have been making large withdrawals for no apparent reason."

"Bah. What seems to be the problem?" Fudge asked. "The goblins already hold our gold, why should it concern them why people make withdrawals?"

"It doesn't when everything is in order. They like doing things by the book," Plateau said. "But my Department has noticed an interesting pattern." He flipped open a folder in front of him and slid it across the table. "Some of the richest of Gringotts' clients have been moving large sums of money out of their flagship accounts and altogether closing smaller ones. Dozens of vaults were emptied just last month."

Fudge wasn't convinced. "And this should concern us why?"

"Barty, you want a crack at it?" Plateau asked.

Crouch straightened in his seat. "I managed to find out that some of that money is being moved abroad, to foreign branches of Gringotts."

"Gringotts is an international institution," Cornelius stated the obvious. "Private citizens have a right to relocate their assets, don't they?"

"Of course," Marcus replied. "But there is no reason to do it in such a roundabout way."

"Our ambassador to France has been alerted to the fact that some people withdrew money only to move it to the Parisian branch," Crouch said.

"Gentlemen, can you please get to the point?"

"The same thing could have been done via Gringotts itself," Marcus said. "The goblins can move money between different national branches. The fee for the service is negligible and it's much faster than doing the same thing without their assistance."

"The question is, why go to such lengths?" Crouch added.

"And the answer – because this kind of manoeuvre makes the money largely untraceable. Gringotts is valued for secrecy and strict upkeep of the client privilege. We only know about the money that went across the Channel thanks to anonymous tips."

"Again – why should all of that interest us?" Fudge asked. "Forgive my ignorance if I'm not seeing something obvious, but-"

"You're forgiven, Minister," Marcus interrupted. "But it's troubling that you were ignorant of all this, considering that it started with Lucius Malfoy, with whom you enjoy a close relationship."

Fudge leaned forward. Now, this sounded like something he should be interested in. "Lucius has been moving his money? Why?"

"That is what we're trying to find out. Sadly, our efforts have been in vain. The money we tracked thanks to the anonymous informant belongs to Vilhelm Nott. We have no idea what happened to whatever assets Malfoy chose to liberate from the London branch. We suspect it's in Paris, but we cannot be sure unless we have the French Ministry's cooperation."

"Well, then get it!" Fudge demanded.

"We've tried," Crouch said, "but we've been rebuffed. As you're aware, Etienne Delacour's daughter was the Beauxbatons champion in the Tournament. He was unimpressed with the lack of security."

"Not to mention the still unexplained death of a student," Marcus added. "Made even more disturbing by the fact that his body showed signs consistent with exposure to the Killing Curse."

"Who else has been making withdrawals?" Fudge asked.

"Parkinson, Yaxley, Macnair... All prominent purebloods with considerable fortunes."

"And coincidentally, all formerly accused of being Death Eaters and then exonerated," Crouch chimed in.

"It is an intriguing parallel to very similar happenings from almost twenty years ago," Marcus said. "Only back then, there were a lot more names. Most of those individuals are either dead or in Azkaban. The amount of money is comparable – just controlled by fewer people. To sum up, we are observing activities almost identical to those that preceded the start of the last war. And we can't help but wonder at the possible connection between that and what the Headmaster of Hogwarts has been saying recently."

Crouch then put the final nail to the coffin. "International press coverage of the Tournament hasn't presented us in favourable light. ICW is at a loss for an explanation as to why Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter are being called liars by domestic papers, when only weeks ago they enjoyed a much more positive kind of publicity."

"So, Minister." Plateau leveled a drilling gaze at Fudge. "This is why we should be concerned."

~~oOo~~

Voldemort's servant elf had gone all out tonight. Sirius wracked his brain for any holiday taking place on the fifth of August, but came up with nothing, at least nothing he thought Voldemort would celebrate. And certainly not with a prisoner.

The last few days had been the most bizarre of Sirius' life. After their first shared meal, he expected the Dark Lord to go berserk and start tossing curses around, not keep inviting him to dinner on subsequent days. Not only that – he was moved from the dungeons to a comfy room, though still under guard. There had been no chance for an escape yet.

His biggest enemy here was boredom. He was forced to spend entire days in his room, with silent Death Eaters for company. He had tried to engage them in conversation, proposed a game of chess and even insulted them, but to no avail. If Voldemort was trying to bore him to death, Sirius hated to admit that it was working. Oddly enough, he would've preferred to remain in the dungeons. Unless Voldemort had found it, the locket was still there and there was a tiniest bit of magic left in it. He doubted he'd have an opportunity to get it back.

As usual, he was escorted to dinner by Peter and two masked guards. Against his better judgment, he was looking forward to meeting Voldemort again. There was something enthralling in the way he could manipulate words to present his plans for eradicating muggles and forging an empire on a foundation of their skulls as if his was the only way to save wizards from the danger muggles posed. It was easy to forget that he didn't considered muggles subhuman and, unless you were on your guard, even start agreeing with the snake. The way he talked about restoring pride to wizardkind, elevating pure blood back to its proper place... Really, if it weren't for his face, Voldemort would be quite charming.

Tonight the Dark Lord was dressed in black robes with green lining. He made a welcoming gesture when Sirius entered, inviting him to sit down.

"Good afternoon, Lord Voldemort," said Sirius jovially. This was all so strange he'd stopped trying to act the part of a defiant prisoner. He was fairly certain this was just a silence before a storm, and figured he might as well enjoy the silence while it lasted.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Black," the Dark Lord replied. "I trust your day hasn't been too unpleasant?"

"No more boring than the last three," Sirius said. He had no idea what kind of mind game Voldemort was playing with him, but he saw no harm in exchanging pleasantries. "Are you having more guests over tonight?" he asked, pointing at empty chairs at the sides of the long table. There had never been anyone else present before.

"Yes," Voldemort said. "As you can imagine, their duties have taken up most of their time recently, but they managed to find time for a small gathering."

"May I ask who's coming?"

"A few old friends. I believe you're acquainted."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, sipping wine, until the door opened and a small group of smartly dressed wizards walked in, chief among them Lucius Malfoy. Several 'my lord's' were uttered and the Death Eaters sat down, casting curious glances at Sirius.

"I believe no introductions are necessary," Voldemort said.

"Yes, my lord," Lucius said. "Someone like Sirius is not easily forgotten."

Sirius recognised all of them. Apart from Malfoy, there were Yaxley, Parkinson and Nott, all of them old money, all had funded Voldemort's campaign last time. Sirius wondered how Voldemort greeted them just after his return. He imagined a Cruciatus or a dozen might have been involved. Those whom Voldemort would probably welcome with open arms currently resided in Azkaban.

"As you can imagine, Mr. Black, there should be more of us here," Voldemort said. "I intend to correct that very soon."

Sirius' heart skipped a beat. Unless he was horribly mistaken, and it was a possibility, Voldemort had just told him he was planning to attack Azkaban. And that meant he was never getting out of here if Voldemort had his way. Why else would Voldemort say something like that to him?

"Before we eat... Lucius, I believe you have something for me?"

Malfoy nodded, produced an envelope from his robes and handed it to Voldemort. The Dark Lord opened the letter and read unhurriedly. Whatever the message was, he gave nothing away. Not even a twitch of his lips nor a flutter of the eyelid.

Once done, he returned the letter to Lucius and asked, "This was delivered to Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes, my lord. I believe the messenger was one of Hogwarts' school owls."

"Very well." Voldemort took another sip of the wine. "Reply when you return home. Write him that I agree."

Sirius frowned. Voldemort was agreeing to something? Wasn't it usually other people who had to agree with him? This had to be important. If only he could find out what it was...

Voldemort clapped his hands and one by one, platters of food appeared.

The atmosphere was on the stiff side, completely different from when Sirius and Voldemort ate alone. He suspected it was because Death Eaters didn't want to appear relaxed with a prisoner in the room. It made him wonder how those get-togethers looked when only Voldemort's in-crowd was present. Was there fear of their master hanging in the air? Or maybe they got drunk and told jokes? Voldemort frustratingly shattered all stereotypes Sirius attributed to Dark Lords. This Voldemort didn't seem like someone who would murder a child in cold blood. The two images refused to blend together in Sirius' mind.

Dinner ended soon enough. No one had spoken a single word since Voldemort gave Lucius his instructions. All of a sudden Sirius wanted to go back to his room. At least there, the Death Eaters were masked. This depersonalisation took the away embarrassment when he was talking to himself.

Lucius and the others left and Sirius was again alone with Voldemort.

"You seemed uncomfortable today," the Dark Lord said. "Did my Death Eaters intimidate you?"

Sirius sighed in relief. There it was: _my_ Death Eaters. The world hadn't turned entirely back to front yet.

"Intimidate? Me? Bah. You must have me confused with Lucius."

"I don't know him to be easily intimidated, Mr. Black. In fact, it was my impression that many people from all walks of life are terrified of him."

"Really? That's a side of Lucy I have never seen. But then again, I did spend twelve years in Azkaban. I might be a little out of touch. "

Voldemort's hairless eyebrows rose. "Lucy?"

"A cute little nickname. He hates it. Say... would you mind if I asked you a question?"

"Not at all."

"I can't think of a reason why you'd be so courteous with me. Because, let me tell you, if you were hoping I'd come over to your side, I'm afraid I must disappoint you."

"If you think I was trying to manipulate you, you're the one who's mistaken. Alas, our time together, however illuminating, has come to an end."

Sirius fought to keep the smile on his face even as a sudden chill travelled up his spine. He'd played it casually, but there hadn't been any genuine threats, until now.

"Pardon my nosiness, but what do you mean by that?"

Voldemort smiled dangerously and suddenly there was a wand in his hand and it was pointing at Sirius.

"Whatever happens next, Mr. Black, rest assured that I shall miss your company."


	8. CHAPTER TWO: Games, Part 3

**CHAPTER TWO: Games**

 **Part 3**

At first, Harry was too stunned to react. What Dumbledore had just said was so much in contradiction to his, he thought, brilliant move that he couldn't imagine what must have happened for Wormtail to come out victorious against _anyone._ The rat had seemed so weak, so pathetic in the Shrieking Shack...

 _"How_ did this happen?"

"Sirius was careless," Dumbledore said. "Peter managed to surprise him."

"But Sirius didn't go alone, did he? You sent Snape away when I told you about Pettigrew."

"Professor Snape was unable to interfere in time. We only know because Voldemort himself informed the Death Eaters of Sirius' capture during a meeting he called immediately after."

"We can't leave him there," Harry said.

"I agree. Sirius has information that Voldemort will find valuable, should Sirius be unable to resist him."

"It's not just about information-" Harry began, but was cut off.

"Of course it isn't," the Headmaster continued. "Abandoning friends to the enemy is a tactic acceptable by Death Eaters' standards, but not mine."

"We don't know where Voldemort is hiding," Harry muttered. "That, and we're talking about _Voldemort._ Makes a daring rescue mission rather impossible."

"My thoughts exactly," the Headmaster agreed. "I'm afraid the only way is to trade."

"Trade? _With what?"_

"Something Voldemort considers more important than a valuable hostage."

"Okay," Harry said, "but do we have something that Voldemort will want more that we can afford to lose ourselves?"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "Of course. The prophecy."

Harry blinked, his mouth agape.

"Not what you expected, I imagine," said Dumbledore.

"Damn right," Harry blurted out. "Didn't you... I'm not even- well, would you kindly explain?"

Dumbledore corrected his glasses. "Thanks to Professor Snape's efforts, we know that Voldemort has abstained from any major undertakings because he's focusing on acquiring the prophecy. He will likely avoid another confrontation with you until he knows its full wording."

"So if we give it to him, things will escalate. Quickly," Harry surmised.

"Most probably."

"And it's possible that Voldemort will actively seek me out."

"I'm afraid so."

"Right, then," Harry summed up, "we can leave Sirius to die and buy more time, or we start fighting the war that we're unprepared for right away."

"In a pinch."

Harry looked up at the elder wizard. "I think the choice is obvious."

"As do I," the Headmaster replied. "Lemon drop?"

~~oOo~~

Harry's return to Grimmauld Place was met with mixed reactions. Hermione, Lupin and Tonks were all relieved to see him. Ron seemed reluctant, as did most of the Weasleys, though they warmed up to him once Dumbledore assured everyone that another possession wouldn't be happening. None of this surprised him. One person, however, did.

Ginny didn't seem resentful, even though she'd had her throat cut by his hands a day ago. She didn't share Hermione's enthusiasm – her brief hug didn't threaten to crush his chest – but gave the impression of being glad he was back. She smiled gently, which must have gone unnoticed by the others, and disappeared into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley ushered everyone else in as well, announcing that dinner was about to be served.

The meal was a strange affair. Lupin and Tonks were quiet and talked in hushed tones, worried over Sirius' capture. Mrs. Weasley distracted herself from the troubles by repeatedly asking if anyone would like more potatoes. Harry sat between Tonks and Hermione, observing everyone covertly. Once, he and Ginny looked up at the same time. She gave him another sly smile, leaving him to wonder.

He could tell all of them carefully avoided hot topics. He saw no reason to bring them up himself. With any luck, Sirius would be back soon. Needless to say, Dumbledore had already thought of a rough plan. Harry had never been the best in creating elaborate schemes. His plans, if there even were any, tended to be made up as he went along and usually in true Gryffindor fashion of charging forward and blundering one's way through obstacles with brute force. When Dumbledore laid out his idea, Harry wanted to retrieve the prophecy right away.

"I admire your dedication," the Headmaster said, "but I don't think going now would be a good idea."

"Why not?" Harry demanded. "Shouldn't we want to get Sirius out as soon as possible?"

"I highly doubt Sirius is danger," Dumbledore replied. Harry looked at him incredulously. "Allow me to finish, Harry. I do not believe Sirius in danger _right now._ As I said, he's not just a prisoner to Voldemort – he's a valuable asset, and that grants him a modicum of protection. Besides, it has been less than an hour since his capture."

The Headmaster's cold logic made sense. The other things he'd laid out Harry couldn't argue against either.

He agreed that he needed some rest. He had an important meeting tomorrow.

~~oOo~~

Lucius sighed internally. Fooling Fudge wasn't by any stretch difficult, but it was tiring. He offered a well-rehearsed excuse for moving his money. It was all meaningless, really, just political doublespeak. It would satisfy the Minister, but Plateau and Crouch wouldn't be so easily misled. He would need to come up with something more legitimate-sounding before he was questioned about it again.

The Dark Lord of course understood the consequences of such operations. They were bound to draw the Ministry's attention - perhaps he even wanted it that way. Whatever his reasons, he wasn't sharing them and, truth be told, Lucius was getting mildly irritated by all the secrecy. No Death Eater dared say it, but they were all thinking it – the Dark Lord's demands to contribute their private fortunes didn't sit well with them. Lucius only hoped that the latest transfer would suffice for a few months at least – for he had no doubts the Dark Lord would demand more eventually.

So very Slytherin of him, to pin the costs of war on the rich.

He was heading towards the nearest fireplace in the Atrium when someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Malfoy, I need you to come with me."

He spun around, a sharp remark almost rolling off his tongue...

"I insist," the young woman said.

He recognised her immediately. Nymphadora Tonks, Narcissa's niece. Recent graduate of the Auror Academy... and a member of Dumbledore's Order.

"Auror Tonks," he drawled. "I'm afraid I am quite busy at the moment. If you'd care to send an owl, we can arrange a meeting."

"It can't wait," she said. "Head Auror is expecting you."

Lucius kept a straight face while inside, all kinds of alarms went off. Shacklebolt was suspected to belong to the Order as well. One of Dumbledore's people, he could write off as a coincidence, but two? He could think of only one reason for such direct contact. This had to be about Black.

The Dark Lord would be extremely displeased if he ignored something that bore all the marks of importance.

"Head Auror?" Lucius repeated slowly. "Well, I would hate to keep him waiting."

The young woman lead him to the elevators and they rode down to the second level. Lucius followed in silence as his guide suddenly took an unexpected turn into the Auror Archives. He noticed the distinct lack of the usual sentries just before the impact of a spell turned everything black.

~~oOo~~

A sudden feeling of warmth woke him up – a tell-tale sign of the Reviving Spell. First, he noticed a pair of shoes in his field of vision. He looked up, slowly, and found himself staring into the eyes of the last person he expected to see.

"Good afternoon, Lucius," Harry Potter said, his wand pointed at Lucius. "You don't mind if I call you Lucius, do you? I feel that after our last meeting formalities are unnecessary."

Lucius stood up with as much dignity as he could muster, noticing Nymphadora Tonks in a remote corner of the room. She was observing him intently, her wand tracing his movements.

"Not at all, Potter," he spat out. He couldn't find it in himself to call the brat by his first name, even to insult him.

"You'll have to forgive me this little act of kidnapping," Potter continued. "Precautions had to be taken. I'm sure you understand."

"I suppose I can return the courtesy next time."

Potter grinned. His eyes shone with unspoken malice - a strangely disturbing sight. All of a sudden, Draco's letter from June made much more sense.

"I'm sure you'll try," he said. "Now, to business. You're a clever man, Lucius. You must know what this is about."

Lucius considered his next words carefully. His current situation warranted caution. He was unarmed, standing between Potter and a trained Auror. The boy's casting of Fiendfyre and the newfound confidence he'd shown at the Ministry couldn't be underestimated. And Merlin knew there were probably more of Dumbledore's people nearby.

"Sirius Black," he said. "I do not presume to speak for the Dark Lord in this matter."

Potter laughed. "Oh, I wouldn't expect you to. I can't imagine Voldemort letting anyone else make decisions. I'll make it short and clear, Lucius. I'm asking you to deliver a message from me to your master."

"What message would that be?"

"I want to trade for Sirius' release. I have something very valuable to offer in return."

Suddenly, a thought struck him. Lucius sincerely hoped he was wrong.

"You don't know the Dark Lord, Potter," he said in a neutral tone. "He won't agree to trade prisoners."

Potter's lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, Lucius," he chided him. "If I wanted to trade you for Sirius, I wouldn't be asking you to deliver the message."

Lucius held back a sigh of relief. It was good news, but he was still in the enemy's hands.  
"What are you offering, then?"

Potter's next words almost broke Lucius' veneer of calm. The brat had to really want his godfather back.

~~oOo~~

"Waiting for something?"

Deep in thought, Harry didn't notice that someone had spoken until she obstructed his vision. He shook his head and looked up.

"Ginny," he said. "Either you're stalking me or you can't sleep."

She sat on the sofa and looked away, staring into the fire, like he had been moments ago. "A bit of both," she admitted.

Harry's lips broke into a smile. "Should I be worried?"

This time she looked at him and again, there was no hint of the usual embarrassment in her expression. "And I thought you liked the attention."

"Sorry." He tilted his head. "Malfoy spoiled it for me. I'll try to enjoy yours more."

"So what's so fascinating about the fire?"

"I found a new way of looking at it."

"Is that a metaphor?"

He chuckled quietly. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked with mock seriousness.

"Look who's talking," she retorted. "If you're going to a party, why am I not invited?"

"Do I look dressed for a party?"

"You are going _somewhere,"_ Ginny said. "And why are you answering questions with more questions?"

He leaned forward in the armchair. "Are you flirting with me?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you even know what it means."

"Why, because Ron's..."

"Clueless," Ginny supplied.

Harry nodded in agreement. "And Hermione's a bit of a prude."

"You don't know that," she chastised him. "Assuming things about your friend... Tsk, tsk... You know what they say. It's always the quiet ones."

"I'd rather get back to talking about you."

Ginny laughed. "Are you flirting with me?"

He winked at her, but their banter was cut short when flames in the hearth shot higher, turning green, and next they knew Albus Dumbledore was standing in the room.

"Mr. Potter," he said, nodding. "And Miss Weasley. Trouble sleeping?"

"Not really," she answered. "Just a restless night."

"I find them quite stimulating," the Headmaster said. "A night awake from time to time can result in wonderful discoveries."

"I discovered the Chamber of Secrets one such night," Harry joked. Immediately, he regretted it.

 _Tact isn't your strong suit, is it, Potter?_

Ginny merely gave him a piercing look and stood up to leave, but didn't seem upset.

"Goodnight, Headmaster," she said. Then she looked at him with another of those mysterious smiles. "Goodnight, Harry."

He watched her until she disappeared in the shadows, feeling strangely lightheaded.

"Harry," the Headmaster said, pulling him out of the haze. "Shall we?"

He blinked away the confusion. "Are we going by Floo?"

"Indeed. After you."

Harry threw a handful of powder into the fire. "Ministry of Magic!"

They arrived in the cavernous Atrium, empty, save for two patrolling Aurors. Dumbledore led him briskly towards the elevators.

"I'm assuming that Fudge will know we visited the Ministry in the middle of the night?" Harry asked once they were out of earshot. "Unless we have the entire Auror Office on our side."

"Of course he will," Dumbledore said. "If he doesn't already. I hadn't made this trip a great secret."

Harry thought about it for a moment. _Why would-_

And then the pieces fell into place.

"Voldemort will find out too. We need him to know we're not bluffing," he said.

"Yes. I have no doubt that Voldemort has an agent, or agents, in the Department of Mysteries. He will know of our escapade by morning at the latest."

"I suppose there's no point in hiding it from _him,"_ Harry said, "but won't Fudge wonder?"

"We need him to do just that," Dumbledore replied. "Either he must accept the facts, or we will need a new Minister."

"Contemplating a coup, Headmaster?"

"Extraordinary times require extraordinary measures. I would sooner overthrow the government myself than allow Voldemort to do it."

"Maybe we should do it anyway," Harry said. "Everyone would be better off without Fudge."

"Forgive my bluntness, Harry, but politics are more complicated than you think. In truth, Cornelius Fudge is a capable peace-time Minister."

"That's great, but we're not at peace."

"In that regard, you are right." The elevator stopped, announcing their arrival with a pinging sound. "And here we are." Dumbledore exited first. "I've never liked this part of the Ministry."

"Not the most inviting place," Harry agreed. "Even the Slytherin commons are cozier."

Dumbledore looked at him curiously.

"Oh, come on," Harry said. "Don't tell me you're surprised."

Headmaster's blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "No, I suppose I'm not."

They walked through the dark hallways lit only by scarce torches casting pale, white light. Passing the staircase leading down to the courtrooms, Harry shivered at the memory of the chair he had been put in before his hearing. He almost felt bad for the criminals who had to endure considerably longer trials with their magic suppressed like that.

Almost.

They reached a door at the end of a long corridor. It was a matte blue color, with gold fixtures, but no doorknob. Dumbledore approached it and the door swung open before him.

"Coming, Harry?"

He quelled the urge to take out his wand and followed the Headmaster into a huge, circular chamber. The door slammed shut behind him.

There were at least a dozen other doors in the wall, all identical. As soon as the door behind them closed, the chamber started slowly rotating. Harry tried to follow the door they'd come in through, but soon the wall was spinning so fast that it became a blur. When it finally stopped, one of the doors opened and a man, Harry deduced from the person's stature, walked in, dressed in all-black robes.

"Algernon. Good evening."

"Dumbledore," the Unspeakable said and turned to Harry. "Harry Potter. I was wondering when you'd show up."

He gestured for them to follow. They were led through a room full of clocks of every conceivable kind, from pocket watches to grandfather clocks, some taller than Dumbledore. The centerpiece was a large floating sphere, empty, save for a tiny egg. As they walked past it, the egg cracked and a small bird emerged, maturing in the matter of seconds. As soon as it flapped its wings once, amazingly, the process started in reverse. The hummingbird grew smaller and hid in the egg, which closed around it.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't need to remind you, of course, that anything you see here is not to be talked about outside the Department," the Unspeakable warned. "I'm talking to you, Potter. Were it up to me, you'd have been blindfolded on entering. The Headmaster trusts you, so you were granted the benefit of doubt."

"Don't worry, sir," Harry said. "I have more important things to talk about."

Behind the next door was a place that felt eerily like the Chamber of Secrets.

"You don't keep any humongous reptiles here, do you?"

Again ignored, he kept quiet as the three of them passed row after row of shelves filled with spheres of glass, crystal and even some that looked like carved out of diamond or sapphire. The encompassing silence was only broken by the sound of their footsteps, although Harry could almost hear the hum of magic permeating the air. The shelves themselves were so high that they disappeared into darkness despite the soft glow that seemed to be coming from the orbs. After a while, he noticed the orbs only glowed when they were passing them by and their light grew weaker and eventually dimmed entirely the further in they went.

"Row ninety-four," the Unspeakable announced, stopping abruptly. He extended his hand, pointing at one of the orbs. "Your prophecy, Mr. Potter."

The crystal sphere lit up with brighter light for a second. Harry approached it slowly. It was the size of a closed fist, resting on a small, decorative pedestal. A plaque below it read:

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D  
Dark Lord  
and (?) Harry Potter

He smirked at the inscription. "You still have doubts whom it concerns?"

"You may think yourself the Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, or whatever title you've adopted," the Unspeakable said, his tone brusque, "but when you've lived as long as I have, you'll know that nothing is ever certain."

"Some things are certain," Dumbledore said.

Harry couldn't think of anything wise to add to that exchange. He picked up the orb with both hands and passed it to Dumbledore.

"Well," the Headmaster said, "as uneventful as this trip was, I think we can agree it's for the better. Algernon?"

The Unspeakable handed him a small piece of metal, resembling a coin covered with tiny runes. "I'll expect it back tomorrow."

"Of course. Good night, Algernon. Harry," Dumbledore turned to him, "take my arm."

Guessing what was coming next, he braced himself for the unpleasant feeling of apparition. As soon as his fingers closed around Dumbledore's forearm, ground was swept from under his feet and a blink of an eye later they were once again standing in the backyard of Grimmauld Place Twelve.

"We need to stop coming in through the back door, Professor" Harry said. "People will start talking."

"And we wouldn't want Miss Weasley to get jealous, would we?"

"Ginny and I are just friends," Harry answered quickly.

"My apologies, then. Good night to you, Harry. And good luck tomorrow."

He nodded. "I will inform you as soon as I'm done. Professor..."

"Yes?"

"What's that?"

Dumbledore raised the runic coin higher. "A small trinket Algernon asked me to test, though I'm sure in his eyes it was just a formality. As you probably know, the Ministry is protected by anti-transport wards almost as strong as those around Hogwarts. This allows one to bypass those wards."

"Sounds simple…" Harry said, "And yet something tells me it's much more complicated than I can imagine."

"Considerably," Dumbledore agreed.

Harry wasn't sure if they were still talking about the Unspeakable's coin.

~~oOo~~

She told herself she was not stalking him. He was her best friend, who had gone through the worst experience yet just weeks ago, and now his godfather had been captured, the closest person Harry had to a parent.

She wasn't stalking. She was... observing. Like any concerned friend would.

But even those rational arguments did little to help her get rid of the shameful feeling. There she was, watching Harry with more attention than she'd ever paid him and yet she was apprehensive to come near him.

Why was she _afraid_ of Harry, who was one of the most compassionate, caring people she knew? He had never hurt anyone on purpose... not without a good reason. But now her instincts were telling her to stay away. It was like he was cocooned in some invisible aura, repelling her. She wasn't the only one who had been avoiding confrontations with Harry in the short time since he'd returned with Professor Dumbledore. Ron spent the entire previous day sulking around, trying to talk anyone who would listen to him into a game of chess. Mrs. Weasley busied herself in the kitchen, as usual.

Other members of the Order didn't seem to be actively avoiding Harry as they came and went, but no one sought him out either. Well, apart from Tonks. Her and Ginny, of all people, had no problem invading Harry's personal space. More interestingly, Harry didn't seem to mind. He shared an easy camaraderie with Tonks that resembled his relationship with Sirius.

Ginny, on the other hand, made no sense.

Everyone seemed oblivious to the abrupt change in her behavior, or they were simply ignoring it. Perhaps they attributed it to the attack. Hermione couldn't help but notice that the changes in Ginny seemed to be following a similar pattern to whatever was happening with Harry.

During her last conversation with Ginny, Hermione noticed her reading a book which, judging by the title, could be a romance novel, but it was obviously something more sinister than that. Yesterday, she saw Harry with the same book – _Wiles of Shadow._ That had been too much.

In a moment of panic, she almost wrote to Professor Dumbledore. Just what was going on here? How could everyone be so _blind?_

At the moment, she was curled up in an armchair in the living room with an advanced Transfiguration text on her lap, while Harry had commandeered a table in the corner, now littered with several tomes on Wizarding Britain's history, including Bathilda Bagshot's _History of Magic._ Naturally, it raised her suspicions – Harry tended to sleep through History class at Hogwarts, relying on her notes to pass exams. The only reason she could think of for this sudden interest in the subject was the Ministry. There were bound to be sections about the government in those books.

Secretly resenting herself for feeling insecure being alone in the room with Harry, Hermione scarcely kept herself from leaving when Ginny walked in and sat on the table, leaning over the book Harry was skimming.

"Are you sure you're not turning into a bookworm, Harry?" Ginny asked, her tone playful. Though it was surely said in jest, Hermione felt a touch offended all the same.

"Just some light reading," he said, drawing a laugh from Ginny. Hermione frowned at the volume in her lap. She remembered both Harry and Ron mocking her in their first year when she'd said something similar.

 _It's time to admit it,_ Hermione thought darkly. _You're jealous. Of Ginny._

The younger girl seemed determined to interrupt Harry's studies.

"You've been here all morning," she said. "I know you're taking OWLs this year, but there'll be plenty of time for studying at Hogwarts."

"This is really more leisure than studying. I'm finding politics more interesting than I probably should."

"You can do that later. Say, did you know that there's a terrace on the top floor?" Ginny asked, leaning in. Hermione considered swooping in and staking her claim right then, but the rebellious notion died an instant death.

"I thought Buckbeak lived there," Harry said.

"Oh, yes. Sirius sometimes puts a Disillusionment Charm on him and lets him out at night to fly."

"What's so interesting about it? The terrace?"

"This house is higher than the surrounding buildings. The terrace has a nice view of the city."

Harry grinned. "Do you really care about the view, or are just trying to get me alone?"

"Maybe," Ginny teased. She then grabbed his hand and he followed her without protest. Hermione felt a burning feeling rise in her stomach when Ginny winked at her.

Enough was enough. She needed allies. Someone who would see that Harry and Ginny's behavior was simply _not normal._

Surely Ron would listen.

~~oOo~~

"You seemed to be getting rather chummy with your redheaded friend," Tonks teased him as they descended the stairs.

Harry smirked at her. "I had no idea you were jealous. You should have said something."

"You are no fun anymore," Tonks said. "A month ago it was so easy to get a rise out of you."

"Where are we meeting him?" he asked, changing the topic.

"He'll come to the Shrieking Shack."

"How did you get him to agree to that?" Harry asked, surprised. "We'll be right under Dumbledore's nose."

"His idea, actually." She handed him a folded piece of parchment.

Harry quickly scanned the letter. "He'll be bringing friends, I see."

"That's why Remus is also coming with us. He's waiting at Hog's Head. We'll apparate there."

They left the house through the back door, where Harry took a deep breath, again preparing himself for apparition. Tonks laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Ready?"

"Ye-"

The yard behind Grimmauld Place dissolved and rearranged itself into the gloomy interior of the Hog's Head.

"I hate it when you do that," Harry said, irritated. Tonks just grinned at him and walked up to the bar.

"We're here!"

Somewhere to the right a door opened and Remus walked in.

"Where's Abe?" Tonks asked.

"Playing cards," Remus said, pointing over his shoulder. "It's Saturday."

"Right." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Almost midday. We should get moving. I'd rather be there first."

"I agree. Harry, have you brought the Cloak?"

"Yes. You want me to put it on?"

"Better safe than sorry," Remus said. "We're meeting Death Eaters. Can't be too careful."

~~oOo~~

A trio of hooded figures appeared at the edge of the forest, where the tree line was closest to the Shrieking Shack.

"Are you sure we can't just grab Potter and kill the other two?"

"The Dark Lord's orders were precise. We are to agree upon the time and place of the exchange, nothing more," Lucius insisted.

Mulciber was unconvinced. "The Dark Lord rewards initiative, if it's successful. How hard could it be?"

"For all we know, Dumbledore's in there."

"Fine," Mulciber said. "If he is, forget I said anything. But anyone else in their Order we could take."

"You're certain you could take on Mad-Eye Moody? Or Shacklebolt?"

"You may have grown soft, but I have confidence in my abilities."

"We're not attacking them!" Lucius snarled. "I don't care if Potter brought just the mudblood and the Weasley brat. We have our orders and we will follow them _to the letter._ Is that understood?"

Mulciber sighed. "Have it your way. I still think you're making a mistake to not even consider it."

Lucius ignored Mulciber's last remark and started at a leisurely pace toward the ruined building. If Potter was already inside, he would notice them approaching.

In truth, he agreed with Mulciber, but he didn't dare go against the Dark Lord's orders. He had made himself clear – they were not to derail the meeting, even if Potter came by himself and wandless. Lucius couldn't think of a reason why the Dark Lord would give such instructions. The meeting seemed like the perfect opportunity to remove Potter from the board, but he'd be damned before ignoring his orders and he wouldn't let Mulciber do it either.

Everything was eerily quiet. Was Potter lying in wait for them? Was this a trap? Perhaps he was hoping to acquire hostages of his own – then he could trade them for Black. Lucius had asked Mulciber and Greyback to accompany him because of their combat prowess, which would be invaluable if things went sour, but he would prefer for them not to go there in the first place.

The Dark Lord would likely agree to an exchange for any one of them. While Draco could take up the mantle should the worst come to pass, he didn't have the necessary experience to manage the business assets, at least not well enough to make a significant profit. Mulciber was an experienced duelist, admittedly one of the best Lucius had ever seen, though he refused to acknowledge the man's skill out loud – his ego was already inflated enough. Greyback was probably the most valuable of all three of them. Through him, the Dark Lord commanded the loyalty of a small army of werewolves and that number was going to grow.

Lucius scolded himself for delaying. There was no backing out now. Still, he checked to make sure his wand would slide out of the sleeve swiftly... just in case.

Flanked by his companions, Lucius banged on the door with a gloved fist once, twice, three times. The door opened unaided.

"Lucius," Potter's voice came from inside. Lucius stepped over the threshold with care, watching where he placed his feet. Mulciber and Greyback slid in behind him, surveying the room.

Potter was the only one in sight, leaning against the cracked mantelpiece in a relaxed pose, with his hands in pockets. His gaze rested on Mulciber and then Greyback for a moment. It seemed like he recognised one of them, though Lucius couldn't tell which one. It was likely Greyback. Mulciber hadn't been in Britain in years before his recent return.

"I'm afraid I am unfamiliar with your colleagues," Potter said. "Although from the... _wild_ look of the tall one, I'm guessing this must be Fenrir Greyback. My pleasure."

The werewolf bared his teeth in a dangerous grin and gave a low growl. Mulciber chuckled and graced Potter with a nod.

"Allow me to introduce myself. Jervis Mulciber," he said in a pleasant tone, as if they were meeting at a soiree. "I knew your father, you know."

Lucius observed Potter's interaction with Mulciber intently. Now he was sure there was something there…

Potter kept his face blank, as if holding something back. "Really?" he asked. "Were you friends before you became a Death Eater?"

Did these two know each each other? Why the act?

Mulciber laughed openly this time. "No. Though sometimes I wish things had turned out differently."

"Enough," Lucius snapped. "The Dark Lord is willing to compromise to make this happen."

"Lovely," Potter said. "Let's hear it, then."

"You can choose the time and place, provided that several conditions are met."

"I can?" Potter seemed genuinely surprised. "He is prepared to compromise... What are his terms?"

"The exchange will take place tonight and the location must be remote. A hilltop or a field - somewhere _empty,_ with no natural hiding spots. Somewhere you can't set traps. You will send me an owl with the hour and location."

Potter's gaze wandered up to the ceiling and back down before he looked at Lucius again. "Agreed. Anything else?"

"The Dark Lord will be present during the exchange."

Potter snorted. "I'm not stupid, Lucius. I expected nothing less. You may tell him that Professor Dumbledore will be there as well."

Lucius nodded in acknowledgement. The Dark Lord had predicted Potter would want Dumbledore by his side. "The Dark Lord will come with an escort of two. If your Headmaster is coming, you can only bring one more person."

"The terms are acceptable," Potter said. "Now, these are mine: I will bring the prophecy, Voldemort will bring Sirius. He must be able to walk. Both parties will stand at a distance. Sirius will start walking towards me and when he's walked half the way, the prophecy will be given to Voldemort."

Throughout the short conversation, Lucius noticed Greyback grow increasingly agitated. Now he felt the werewolf move as the large man leapt forward.

"No, _don't!"_

Potter went for his wand, moving with uncanny speed. He still wouldn't have been able to shield himself from Greyback, but the werewolf was suddenly blasted sideways. Not surprising – Lucius suspected Potter's guards had to be hiding somewhere close.

A silvery cloak fell to the ground and werewolf Lupin – the irony - cast another spell at his creator, while from another direction, Black's young cousin attacked Mulciber, but Jervis was quick and shielded himself from the curse.

All the observations hadn't taken more than a second, but Lucius still paid dearly for the delay.

 _"Expelliarmus!"_

Potter's spell hit him with explosive force, sending both his wand and himself flying backwards and into Mulciber.

 _"Petrificus Totalus!"_

"Incarcerous!"

The combined spells of Potter and the rookie Auror rendered him and Mulciber helpless. From his position, Lucius could still see Greyback, now magically held upright and pressed against the wall by Lupin.

 _"Stupefy!"_

The stunner slammed into Greyback, knocking him out.

"Fuck," Potter swore. "Tonks, how long do we have until the Aurors show up?"

"What-"

"The Trace!" Potter interrupted. "How long?"

"Oh shit, you're right... with the recent fireworks and considering it's _you,_ they're probably watching you like hawks-"

"TONKS!"

"Sorry. A minute, maybe two."

"Tonks, get out of here," Lupin ordered. "Take these two with you, go to one of the safehouses, get whoever you can and contact Dumbledore. You're an Auror, you can't be seen here..."

"What about you?"

"I cast the first spell at him." He pointed at Greyback. "I have to stay. We can tell the Aurors we were taking a walk and were attacked."

"Are you sure? I can-"

"GO!"

Lupin's stunner send Lucius into unconsciousness.

~~oOo~~

"They're going to question us. We need to settle on a story."

"Let's not complicate it," Remus said. "We met to talk. If they ask what about, just say it was personal and they can't demand to know. Or mention your parents."

"It's going to be a stretch no matter what we tell them," Harry said. "Getting randomly attacked in the Shrieking Shack by Fenrir Greyback - what are the odds? And it's just too damn convenient for Fudge. First thing he'll do is accuse us of conspiring with a wanted criminal."

"We'll get through this. We just need to stay calm. I'm sure Tonks is contacting Dumbledore as we speak."

Their conversation was cut short by a loud, booming voice.

"HARRY POTTER!" someone bellowed outside, no doubt using the Sonorus Charm. "WE KNOW YOU'RE INSIDE. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP! YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE."

Harry tucked his wand into a sleeve and turned to leave. "What a great fucking day."

"Harry." Remus grabbed his arm and spun him around. "I know you're angry, but try to keep your emotions in check. Our chances will be better if you don't antagonise them."

Harry nodded and stopped in front of the door. He raised his hands above his head before kicking the door open.

"I'm coming out!" he yelled. "Please don't curse me!"

After an hour spent in the shadowy interior of the Shack, the light of day blinded him. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw at least a dozen Aurors forming a half-circle in front of the Shack. They way they were spread out suggested there had to be more on the other side.

 _They really went all out this time._

Walking down the path, he noticed a familiar face.

"Auror Grayson," he said. "When I used Fiendfyre, you guys only sent one squad."

"Shut up, Potter," snapped an older Auror. His uniform was slightly different from the others and he had a rectangular silver badge pinned to his chest. "This is your second offense within a week. You're under arrest."

"For casting common spells near Hogsmeade?" he asked. "Why? I'm pretty sure there aren't any muggles around. And Hogwarts students are allowed to use magic in the village."

"When the school's in session, which it isn't right now," the Auror said. "Plus, we've detected multiple apparitions in this area. You were meeting with someone."

"I was, until I was rudely interrupted," Harry spat. "Go ahead, check inside."

That was the moment Remus chose to come out.

"Don't move!" the Auror shouted. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to help explain this misunderstanding," Remus continued, coming closer. "You should send someone inside the Shack. You'll find Fenrir Greyback there, stunned and bound."

The Auror seemed to want to pierce Remus right through with his stare. "And just what is Greyback doing here?"

"Why don't you ask him?" Harry asked, growing irritated. "So we can all get on with our day."

"Go check," the Auror ordered, glancing at one of his subordinates. "I'm going to need you to come with us, Mr..."

"Lupin. Remus Lupin."

"Splendid. Grayson, cuff Mr. Potter here."

Harry caught sight of familiar looking handcuffs. "Oh, hell no. You're not putting those on me."

"Don't make me knock you out."

"I'm coming peacefully, Auror," Harry snapped. "Here, you can have my wand." He pulled it out of his sleeve. "I promise to be cooperative, alright?"

The Auror was silent for a moment and finally said, "Fine. You there, you'll take your team and escort Potter to the Ministry. Inform the boss of the situation. Now, Mr. Potter," he said, turning back to Harry. "According to the information I received prior to coming here, you cast three spells in quick succession-"

"Yes, I bloody did," Harry interrupted. He was through playing nice with the Ministry. "Might have had something to do with Fenrir Greyback attacking me."

The Auror sneered and touched the tip of Harry's wand with his own. _"Priori Incantato."_

Three ghostly images emerged. Harry wondered for a moment how the Auror identified random spellfire as specific spells. Perhaps some aspects of the reverse-spell effect were only observable by the caster.

"I'm tempted to go further," the Auror said, "but frankly, I'm not going to risk a reprimand because of you. We have what we wanted."

Then he grabbed the holly wand in both hands and unceremoniously snapped it in two.

~~oOo~~

Harry grimaced at the familiar young Auror who came in.

"You again," he said. "Your first big interrogation, eh? And you landed me. I do believe congratulations are in order."

Harry didn't care about being cooperative at that point. That ship had sailed when they snapped his wand.

Dell Grayson sat down opposite him and placed a file on the table.

"Yes, that seems familiar," Harry went on. "I was in a very similar situation a few days ago. As I recall, it didn't go very well for you guys, did it?"

In a display of professionalism, Grayson ignored his comments, refusing to take the bait.

"Mr. Potter," he began, "you've been apprehended today, along with Mr. Remus Lupin, following your breaking the Decree for Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery-"

"I know that," Harry interrupted. "Are you going to ask the questions or keep quoting the law for me?"

Grayson cleared his throat. "There is no need for hostility, Mr. Potter. We are only trying to understand-"

"Right," Harry interrupted the Auror again. "Then why was I arrested in the first place? Do you even care that you have Fenrir Greyback in custody? Or has he escaped already?"

Grayson's gaze hardened. "Mr. Potter," he said, raising his voice just a notch. "Rest assured we are going to get to the bottom of this. Part of that process is your interrogation."

"Are you hoping for a promotion too?" Harry asked. "The last guy who interrogated me got bumped to Head Auror. _After_ I won the trial. Apparently the Minister is promoting people for failing now."

It wasn't a fair thing to say. The circumstances behind Kingsley's promotion had been more complicated than that, but Harry didn't care.

Grayson took a calming breath and tried again.

"Let's start with the obvious – why were you in the Shrieking Shack?"

Harry leaned over the table. "I was conspiring with Fenrir Greyback to instigate a werewolf revolt against the Ministry."

Grayson, looking alarmed, grabbed at the file, but Harry slapped his hand over Grayson's wrist.

"How gullible can you get?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "And you're supposed to uphold the law in this country. Merlin..."

"Mr. Potter. I am asking you to take this seriously. Otherwise I will assume you've confessed to a criminal activity and you will stand trial."

"Fine," Harry growled. "There I was, meeting with a friend and Greyback comes out of nowhere. What was I supposed to do? Let myself be torn limb from limb?"

"So..." Grayson opened the file, scanning it quickly. "Why the Shrieking Shack? It's an unusual place to meet with friends."

Harry snorted. "It's not nearly as haunted as people think."

"Why did you meet?"

"None of your business."

"Fair enough," Grayson said, turning a page in the file. "I'm assuming you and Mr. Lupin were talking when Greyback appeared. How did he get in?"

"Through. The. Door," Harry said very slowly.

"A wand was found on Greyback," Grayson said. "Why wouldn't he use it?"

"As far as I know, Greyback isn't feared for his dueling skills. He's fast, he had the element of surprise. This could've gone either way."

"It's interesting that Fenrir Greyback just stumbled upon you and Mr. Lupin, who is a werewolf himself-"

"And what does his being a werewolf have to do with any of this?" Harry demanded. "Not to be vain, but I don't think Greyback was there for Remus."

"So you think he was after you? Why?"

Harry shrugged. "Because he works for Voldemort."

Grayson flinched. "Mr. Potter," he said and went silent for a long moment. "Why is it your belief that You-Know-Who is again operating in Britain?"

Harry stared at the Auror unblinkingly. "Somehow, I doubt your superiors told you to ask me that."

~~oOo~~

Scrimgeour maintained his usual, cool facade, although with great difficulty.

"Cornelius," he said, "can you imagine how this is going to reflect on the entire Department? On _me?"_

"I don't know what you mean, Rufus," the Minister replied. "Potter clearly broke the law and was discovered at the scene with two werewolves! If that doesn't warrant an investigation..."

"Of course it does," Scrimgeour agreed, "but your approach is wrong. Not to mention you're usurping my Department to play your games."

"I have the authority to oversee an investigation if-"

"Which does nothing to change the fact that you're wrong," Scrimgeour interrupted. "Innocent until proven guilty, Cornelius. You're trying to intimidate Potter with the same charges you laid against him four days ago. He didn't seem scared then. What makes you think it'll work this time?"

"Enough, Rufus," the Minister said. "I understand you're concerned about your Department and your dedication is admirable, but Harry Potter is a problem that needs to be resolved."

"Cornelius-"

"And I will see it resolved."

~~oOo~~

Moments after Grayson asked his unexpected question, another Auror burst in and glared at the younger man until the silent order was conveyed. Grayson scrambled to leave while the other Auror took his place and proceeded with a boring questioning, the kind Harry suspected had to be standard fare.

He steadfastly declined to give any details when asked about anything other than the bare basics. If he was right, Remus was being interviewed as well and the less details either one of them made up, the better their answers would resonate.

This time, he didn't have the patience to sit calmly and wait for what would come next. Things had been going well enough until Greyback attacked. Of all the hot-headed idiots he could have chosen, why did Malfoy have to bring him along? And what was Mulciber's angle? He played along in Shack when Harry pretended he didn't know him. Well, he didn't, really, but Mulciber gave no indication that they'd met. Was their encounter In Godric's Hollow really just an accident? He seemed strange for a Death Eater.

And now, he was probably being kept somewhere with Malfoy and Merlin knows what Tonks was doing. The ideal course of action would be to get out of here, pin the whole thing on Greyback and hope that Voldemort would still agree to meet. Harry would come back to the Ministry later to sort out this new mess if needed. He just couldn't afford to be stuck here right now.

It had been more than an hour, by his estimation, since his interrogator had left. He paced around the small room, making sure not to mumble anything. They had to be recording everything that was happening inside.

After a while pacing became boring, so he turned to outright vandalism.

The furniture was made of wood – it was easy enough to smash the chair against the wall and upturn the table. He dispensed several kicks but only succeeded in developing a pulsating pain in his toe, so he stopped, even more irritated than before.

They'd broken his wand. _His wand._

He had been without it before, but this was a whole new kind of helpless.

When the door opened, he was willing to brawl with Greyback if it got him out of the Ministry.

"Mr. Potter, my-"

The wizard who entered ducked even as he flicked his wand. A broken-off chair leg was magically batted away into the opposite wall.

"Let me begin by saying that I understand your frustration."

Harry glared at him. "I'm not even going to grace that with an answer," he spat.

The wizard looked to be about Crouch's age and carried himself with a dignity someone like Fudge could never hope to emulate.

"Who are you, anyway?" Harry asked.

"My name is Rufus Scrimgeour," the man said, bowing his head. "Until recently, I was the Head Auror."

"So you're the new Director," Harry concluded. "I want the name of the Auror that snapped my wand, if you would."

"For what purpose?" Scrimgeour asked.

"I don't know yet. I'll think of something later."

"That Auror was well within the law, Mr. Potter. By all rights your wand should have been snapped several days ago, on your second offense."

"I thought we agreed that the dementors' presence was an extenuating circumstance."

"It doesn't diminish the fact that you used magic outside of school."

"Don't play the stupid game with me," Harry snapped. "I was found guilty only of using questionable magic, nothing else."

"Circumstances were different this time."

"Were they? Let me think – the Statute? No. I was in Hogsmeade. No muggles for miles around. And I was in danger, unless I misinterpreted Greyback's intention to give me a big hug."

A smile broke Scrimgeour's serious expression for a moment, and promptly disappeared.

"What I'm trying to say, Mr. Potter, is that my Aurors followed the protocol. The Decree for Reasonable Restrictions clearly states: the wand is to be destroyed at the scene in case of repeated violation of the law."

"Well, your law is flawed," Harry retorted.

To his surprise, Scrimgeour nodded. "I agree. But you must understand, Mr. Potter, there is a reason why every new law in this country gets extensive press coverage. In a society as small and traditional as ours, new laws are passed infrequently... and the old ones are resistant to change, even if a change is needed."

Harry frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

"So that you understand," Scrimgeour said, waving his wand again and repairing the broken furniture. "The destruction of your wand was carried out lawfully. At the time, you were known to have used magic outside of Hogwarts."

"At the time?" Harry repeated. "That sounds ambiguous."

The Head Auror stepped aside, leaving the cell door open. "Innocent until proved guilty, Mr. Potter. If it is found out that you were in league with a wanted criminal, be sure we'll come knocking. For now, I have no reason to detain you any longer."

Harry's eyebrows rode up. "You're just letting me go?"

"And Mr. Lupin as well."

 _Well, I better get going before he changes his mind._

As he was passing the other wizard, he felt long fingers on his shoulder.

"No everyone in the Ministry is against you, Potter," Scrimgeour said in a low tone. "But unless new proof is presented, status quo won't change."

Harry nodded in understanding and left the cell. Yet another Auror was waiting there to escort him out. Only when they were joined by Remus did he allow himself a smile. Fudge's Ministry wasn't as united as the Minister claimed.

~~oOo~~

The apparition was chaotic, which resulted in a decidedly uncomfortable landing. Both he and Mulciber were dropped on the floor from three feet. He fell on his back, breath forced out of his lungs.

"Well," Mulciber grunted, "that didn't go as planned." Immediately, he yelped in pain when their captor kicked him in the ribs.

"Shut up," she snapped. "I hope you're proud of your man Greyback, Malfoy."

"What happened was not my intention," Lucius replied. "I followed my orders. I am not responsible for the actions of a rabid dog."

"I don't really give a shit," the woman said and jabbed her wand at Jervis, knocking him out with a stunner.

"That is really not necessary-"

When he came to, there was one more person in the room and he wasn't bound by ropes anymore – though he still couldn't move.

"Lucius." Dumbledore tipped his hat in greeting. "Quite an unexpected meeting."

"Headmaster."

"Oh, there's no reason to be so formal," the elder wizard said. "It appears we have a bit of a nut to crack."

Lucius endured the following silence. If Dumbledore had something to say, he wasn't going to stop him.

"I'm sure you understand that at this point old Fenrir is beyond my reach. If Voldemort wants him back, he will have to get him back on his own."

"I wouldn't want to speculate," Lucius said. "My original orders no longer apply, it seems."

"I beg to differ," Dumbledore replied. "You will be let go. Expect an owl later today with the details. In fact, as a show of good faith, I shall up the offer." He pointed at Mulciber.

Mulciber sighed in a melodramatic fashion. "Look at me – reduced to a bargaining chip. How the mighty have fallen."

"Quite so," Dumbledore agreed. "You were one of the most promising students I've had, and that is not a compliment I pay often."

Mulciber said nothing, merely looked on, amused.

"Very well," Lucius said. "I will pass on your message to the Dark Lord."

"Excellent." Dumbledore flicked his wand and whatever paralysis spell was holding him in place was broken. He stood up, dusting himself off.

"May I... have my wand back?"

Dumbledore's smile was more unsettling than if he'd glared at him.

"I believe I'll hold onto it. No worries; I shall take good care of it until the exchange."

Lucius felt his stomach drop. This was just getting better and better.

"Now, there is just one more thing..."

~~oOo~~

Harry and Remus left via the visitors' entrance. Outside, Remus seized Harry by the shoulder and steered him into the nearest nook. He looked both ways to make sure no muggles were near.

"Were you awake the entire time, Harry?" he asked. "Did they have a chance to perhaps cast a spell on you? Feed you a potion?"

"I didn't drink whatever it was they gave me."

"Good. I doubt they would try something so obvious, but nevertheless... I'll check you for spells once we're out of here. Hold on."

Fifteen minutes and several apparitions later Harry felt as if he'd been eviscerated, but they were back at Grimmauld Place. Remus had found no traces of recent magic.

"At least nothing potent," he said. "If I missed something, it's too weak to go through the wards."

The Headquarters was a hive of activity. Dumbledore was leading a meeting in the kitchen when Harry and Remus came in.

"What a pleasant surprise," Dumbledore said first. "I have never felt more glad to have been useless."

"Actually, we can't really take credit in this case," Remus said. "We were released on Scrimgeour's orders. The power struggle in the Ministry is escalating."

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Harry. Are you alright?"

"Fine," he answered. "Scrimgeour hinted we might be questioned about Greyback."

"More likely he wants to simply meet in private," Tonks piped up. "I got the impression he was shifty. If he's going against Fudge-"

"That's enough!" Mrs. Weasley protested. "He's just a boy! He doesn't need to hear this."

Harry's fists closed and relaxed in silent anger.

"We can agree to disagree," he said.

She was about to scold him, no doubt, but Dumbledore interfered.

"We were not discussing anything sinister, Molly. No harm done. However..." He paused and looked back at Harry. "I must ask you to leave, Harry. I respect your accomplishments, but the Order has a strict adult only policy."

"Will you have a moment afterwards?" Harry asked. "I want to talk to you."

Dumbledore gave him a significant look. "Of course. I'll find you as soon as we're finished here."

~~oOo~~

The Headmaster entered his room a few minutes later. Harry was just putting the letter to Lucius in an envelope.

"There's an old park on the outskirts of Little Whinging," he said. "I gave precise instructions in the letter. I set the time for midnight. It's unlikely anyone will be in the vicinity."

"Little Whinging? I'm not sure meeting so close to your home is a good idea, Harry."

"If Voldemort hasn't found Privet Drive until now, I doubt it'll happen. He'll have other problems to deal with soon enough."

The Headmaster nodded. "I will trust your judgment. In the meantime, I believe you need to make one more short trip before the exchange."

"Are you referring to my regrettably wandless status?"

"Yes. If you don't mind, I shall escort you personally. Without a wand, you are quite defenseless, I'm afraid."

As they were leaving the library, Harry noticed Ginny sitting on the stairs. She was watching him with that new intense gaze of hers.

"Professor... do you mind waiting for me outside? I'll be there in a minute."

He didn't doubt Dumbledore noticed his reaction to Ginny's presence and was all the more grateful that he chose not to comment. The Headmaster swept past him and he walked up to Ginny.

"You _are_ stalking me."

"I am... interested," she replied.

"I am too," he said. "But by Merlin's pants, I have no idea where it's coming from."

"It's mutual attraction, Harry," Ginny said. "One of those things that don't have a logical explanation."

"You seem very well informed. I'm older than you and I don't know any of this stuff. Are you just making it up as you go along?"

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe no."

Harry held out a hand and Ginny took it. He pulled her to her feet and for a moment they were closer than they had ever been before. Then she stepped around him and was gone. Stunned, he looked around after a moment, but she was nowhere in sight. What was going on with that girl? More importantly, what was going on with him?

He discarded those thoughts. Dumbledore was waiting for him.

In Ollivander's shop, Harry witnessed what must have been one of the strangest staring matches ever to take place. It only lasted several seconds, but the tension was obvious. Two of the most... unique wizards he knew stared at each other without a word and then Ollivander suddenly turned his gaze at him.

"There is something different about you, Mr. Potter."

"Well, I'm taller."

"No," the wandmaker said. "Not that. Not on the surface. Somewhere... deeper."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "You are the expert here, but may I suggest something in yew, perhaps?"

Harry grimaced. "I hoped at least now I'd have a wand that had nothing to do with Voldemort's."

Ollivander's eyes widened in realisation. "Ah... I see. And I think... dragon, yes?"

"It seems reasonable," Dumbledore agreed.

Ollivander came back, carrying a long box. The wand inside was all black and shone with a high polish.

"Twelve inches," he said, handing it to Harry, "Yew. Dragon's heartstring. And I think more than a simple wave this time."

"Won't this alert the Ministry? I'd rather not be arrested buying a wand."

"My shop is off-limits to the Ministry, Mr. Potter. And they must know you would want to replace your wand, yes?" Ollivander said. "What are you waiting for? Cast a spell!"

Harry raised the wand. "What dragon?" he asked suddenly.

The wandmaker's face was a mask. "Hungarian Horntail."

Harry's head snapped around so quickly that for a moment he thought something broke in his neck.

He stared at Ollivander and the wandmaker stared back. Harry had no idea how, but he was sure that Ollivander was telling him, without words, that this wasn't a coincidence.

"This feels strangely like a setup," Harry muttered. Then something occurred to him.

 _Dragon... Do they want me to do something specific?_

He waved the wand around.

 _"Incendio!"_

With control born of hours spent practicing for the Tournament last year, he guided the flame in a spiral, letting it approach the flammable furnishings of the wandmaker's shop, but not close enough to actually set something on fire. He smiled knowingly, seeing the element obey him. He could cast Fiendfyre, some practice and he would control it as easily as this...

The fire was suddenly doused out. Harry glanced at the wand and then looked back up to see Ollivander tucking his wand away. He gave an appreciative nod.

"A good match, I think."

~~oOo~~

It was approaching midnight and an uncharacteristic chill had set over Little Whinging. Dark clouds sped across the night sky, pulled along by a howling wind. On the flat stretch of land where Harry, Dumbledore and Moody were waiting, the cold was further magnified.

Harry stood with his new wand in one hand and the prophecy in the other. Bored, he was tossing the orb up into the air and catching it as they waited. Dumbledore and Moody were with him, standing slightly behind, at his request. He wanted to make this meeting a statement.

If Voldemort wanted a war, then a war he would get.

Harry would do whatever was needed to even the odds. Both Dumbledore and Moody had agreed to train him. He'd already received his first lesson from Mad-Eye this afternoon. It was a harsh learning experience - he didn't even last a minute against the ex-Auror. Moody had him disarmed and bound in thirty seconds and Harry had a feeling the man had been holding back.

He could more than hold his own against his peers, but he wouldn't be fighting Hogwarts students in this conflict, but adult witches and wizards. If just half of what Moody had told him was accurate, he would need to use everything he had to stand a chance against opponents like Lucius Malfoy or Jervis Mulciber.

Mulciber wasn't here with them. He was under guard, with Tonks and Remus watching him. Dumbledore would activate the portkey remotely and bring Mulciber over once they were sure Voldemort would honour the agreement.

The last minutes to midnight ticked away and the wait came to an end.

A small group appeared some fifty feet away, facing them. Voldemort was at the front, flanked by two Death Eaters. Sirius was next to the Dark Lord. His hands seemed to be tied behind his back, but he looked fine otherwise. Harry couldn't hold back a smile at the sight of his godfather, which Sirius returned.

"Harry," Voldemort said, his voice smooth like silk. "Albus. Alastor." He greeted them like old friends.

"Tom," Harry said with a nod. "I could say it's good to see you again, but we both know it would be a lie."

Voldemort seemed to acknowledge the use of his name as a fair retort.

"I see you have brought the prophecy... but not Mulciber."

"We agreed to trade Sirius for the prophecy. I didn't write in the letter that Mulciber was part of the bargain. If Lucius has told you otherwise, I apologise – he must have misunderstood the message."

Voldemort smiled back. His skin wrinkled grotesquely, like wax.

"Very clever, Harry," he said. "I assume you have another proposal, then."

"How about Pettigrew?" Harry asked. "One man for another. You might come out better off. Mulciber certainly makes an impression. I suspect he's more valuable to you than Peter."

Hearing what sounded like an honest laugh out of Voldemort definitely ranked among Harry's strangest experiences.

"You may not believe this, but sometimes I find myself wishing we weren't on opposite sides in this war," the Dark Lord said.

"Yes, what a pity," Harry replied. "The Boy Who Lived and the Heir of Slytherin. Imagine the parties we could throw together."

"An alluring possibility," Voldemort said. "But as entertaining as this is, there are other matters that demand my attention. And I'm sure you know I cannot give you Wormtail. It is not in my nature to aid my enemies."

"Then I think I'll hold on to Mulciber for a while, until you come up with a counter-offer."

Harry clenched his fingers tightly around the wand and the prophecy. He had to rest the orb against his thigh because it was slipping from his sweaty palm.

Voldemort showed the first sign of displeasure.

"Don't take my courtesy for weakness, Harry," Voldemort said, his voice suddenly colder than ice. "You want your godfather alive more than I want the prophecy. There are other ways for me to obtain it, as your Headmaster knows, and you would do well to take that to heart."

Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry glanced at him and swallowed loudly.

"Alright," he said turning back to Voldemort. "Mulciber and the prophecy for Sirius and his wand, intact." This was proving to be more nerve-wracking than he'd expected.

"Very well," the Dark Lord agreed. "Bring Mulciber."

Dumbledore didn't seem to move or say anything, but he must have done something because a few seconds later Mulciber was next to Harry, on his feet, but with his hands bound.

One of the Death Eaters disapparated and returned after a few excruciatingly long minutes carrying what had to be Sirius' wand and handed it to Voldemort, who in turn gave it to Sirius after releasing him from his bonds. Mirroring Voldemort, Harry untied the knot on Mulciber's wrists and, after a moment of hesitation, handed him the prophecy.

"Walk. Slowly," he told him.

"It's been a pleasure, Harry," the Death Eater said. "I'm sure we'll meet again."


	9. CHAPTER THREE: Opening Moves, Part 1

**CHAPTER THREE: Opening Moves**

 **Part 1**

Harry's entire body vibrated. His fingers paled, so hard was his grip on the new wand as he watched Sirius and Mulciber pass each by halfway between the two groups. Sirius held his wand lazily, but with the confidence of an experienced duelist, one whose reflexes and instinct couldn't even be blunted by twelve years in Azkaban. Mulciber seemed even more relaxed. Everything about him spoke of wild skill he wielded with no more effort than was required for breathing.

The two men shared a look as the other walked past. It was neither a greeting nor a challenge – merely an acknowledgment of the other's ability.

Then they stopped.

"Sirius," said Mulciber in his easy-going manner. "How's the family?"

"Jervis," Sirius replied politely. "How's yours?"

"All dead, thank Merlin."

"Myself, I'm still working on a few cousins."

"It's good seeing you, Sirius."

"Likewise."

Harry, by now ready to explode, risked a glance at Voldemort – he was observing the brief exchange clearly amused. Sirius and Mulciber offered each other curt nods and resumed walking.

Voldemort accepted the prophecy, held it delicately in his long fingers and stared into the orb. Then he looked up at Harry. His eyes flashed crimson and he grinned grotesquely one more time before disapparating, the Death Eaters following immediately after.

Harry swept Sirius into a hug. "How are you?"

Sirius smiled. "Pretty good. I wasn't tortured, to my great surprise. Voldemort asked me to dinner."

Before Harry could form a coherent follow-up to _that,_ Dumbledore interrupted them.

"I hate to cut your reunion short, but Sirius can't return to Grimmauld Place just yet. Alastor, please escort Harry back to the Headquarters." He turned to look at Harry. "Everything appears to be well, but I need to make sure that Voldemort hasn't tried something. We won't be long."

Harry nodded in agreement. He understood the necessity of this, of course. Sirius clapped him on the back and gave a reassuring smile. "We'll have a lot to talk about when I get back."

"Potter," Moody barked at him. Harry grabbed his arm and they apparated to Grimmauld Place Twelve.

"I've got elsewhere to be tonight," the ex-Auror said, "but let me know when you want another lesson. You have potential to make a decent duelist. Send Tonks over with a message. No owls."

With that final warning, Moody left. Harry turned and went inside. Most Order members were out, but the few that were currently off duty were all sitting around the long table, waiting for news.

Hermione and Tonks were the first at his side when he came in.

"Harry, where's Sirius? Has something gone wrong?"

"Are you alright?"

Ron sat at the very edge of the table. "Mate," he began, "how did it go?"

Harry felt all the tension escape him in a flood as he smiled and leaned on the table, his knees going wobbly for a moment. "I'm fine and we got Sirius back. Dumbledore's making sure that nothing's wrong with him. They'll be here soon."

Tonks sighed in relief and plopped onto the nearest chair, almost toppling it. Hermione threw her arms around him and even Ron smiled.

"I was so worried," Hermione whispered close to his ear. She released him, but stood at his side, leaning on his shoulder.

"You must be hungry, Harry dear. With all those things happening…"

Mrs. Weasley, it seemed, believed food to be a universal remedy. Harry _was_ hungry, but Sirius could be back at any moment.

Remus came up then and hugged him briefly. "It's good to know that everything worked out. I wish I could stay, but there are things that need doing. I'll have to yell at Sirius tomorrow. Stay safe."

Mr. Weasley simply shook Harry's hand and then left, leading his frantic wife out of the kitchen.

"Damnit Harry!" one of the twins exclaimed. "On one hand, we want to congratulate you..."

"Bargaining with Dark Lords, that's just out of our league," the other chimed in.

"On the other, you're usurping our throne. Trust the son of Prongs to pull one over You-Know-Who, right?"

They each slapped Harry on the back as hard as they could, making him stumble.

"Things are never dull with you around, Harrykins."

They winked at him and disapparated simultaneously with a doubly noisy crack.

Several more people came up to exchange a few words and then finally Harry, Ron and Hermione were alone. Well, not quite.

"Ginny," said Ron. "Maybe you should go to your room."

"She can stay," Harry said.

Ginny pushed past her brother and sat up on the table. Leaning in, she kissed Harry's cheek. Ron looked like he wanted to strangle someone, but couldn't quite decide who deserved his wrath the most at that moment.

Harry took a step back and found himself a seat. He needed to put a bit of distance between himself and the others. Ginny and Hermione had all but trapped him and Ron… If Harry was interpreting the signs correctly, he would need to talk to him soon, before things got too heated.

Ron broke the silence. "So, what now?"

"Voldemort won't sit on his hands forever. I don't think it'll be much longer before he does something. It will be war. And he has some dangerous people on his side… It won't be pretty."

"Harry, I can't imagine how you must feel," Hermione said. "And I know that you feel responsible, but… Everyone needs someone. We'll support you… if you give us a chance."

Harry pointedly avoided looking at her at that moment.

"Yes, I know. It's just- there are things I can't share with you and you need to accept that. But I'll need you all the same when we're back at Hogwarts."

"They won't let us join the Order, but hell, we're all in this anyway," Ron muttered. "Some of the members are bloody ridiculous. I mean, what does this Doge fellow do? From what I've seen, he jumps at the sight of his own shadow."

Harry snorted. "Yeah. I think he's a friend of Dumbledore's though. He's got some connections at the Ministry."

Ginny smiled. "We have that too. And probably better than Mr. Doge."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about- Percy!"

Ron slapped his thigh. "That's right! He works for Fudge now. It was weird, people just a year out of Hogwarts rarely join the Minister's staff. That's what Dad says, anyway."

Harry perked up at that. "I thought he worked for Crouch."

"He hasn't for a while," Ginny said. "He got promoted soon after the Third Task. He had a huge row with Dad about it."

"Dad thinks he was only given this job so he could spy on us and report to Fudge," Ron said bluntly. "I think it's bollocks. That Percy's spying on us, I mean. He's a stuck up pillock sometimes, but he wouldn't betray us like that. Not for a better job."

"So why does your father think he would?"

Ron crossed his arms. "I dunno. The summer's been crazy, what with moving here and everything else. Dad was never really respected at the Ministry, but now Fudge is sticking his nose everywhere. The stress must be getting to him."

Harry only half-listened as he formulated a plan. Percy had worked for Crouch for a year. Maybe he could reach out to his old boss...

"Is there any way to contact him?" he asked.

"If he's on the Minister's staff, Kingsley might be able to pass on a message," Hermione suggested.

"Why not just send him an owl?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"No, she's right," Harry said. "The Ministry is a mess. Remus and I were only released because the Director of DMLE went against orders. If Fudge really expects Percy to spy on his family, I wouldn't be surprised if his mail was being monitored. Has he written any letters?"

"Not to us," said Ron. "He's been to the Burrow a couple times, but not since we moved here."

"Wouldn't someone get suspicious that the Burrow is empty?" Harry asked.

"Bill and Charlie are there and Dad apparates every morning to Floo to work from there," said Ginny. "We overheard Kingsley saying that the house is being watched. That's why we left."

"The Ministry is watching the homes of everyone they suspect of being in the Order," Hermione added.

"I think the only one they're not watching is Moody," said Ron. "He discovered two Aurors hiding outside his place and sent them back to the Ministry knocked out and confounded."

"Really? When did that happen?"

"About two weeks ago."

"Isn't Amelia Bones a friend of Dumbledore's also?" Harry asked. "She agreed to this? She was still in charge of DMLE back then."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

"Fudge has been usurping some of the Departments, particularly those ran by people not sympathetic to his policies," Hermione explained. "It's not exactly illegal, so no one has protested."

"People don't want to lose their jobs," Ron said. "Dad's Department was inspected twice just last month."

"And we're still waiting for someone to ask why the Minister goes nowhere without two bodyguards if there's nothing to worry about," Ginny added.

"Bodyguards?" Harry asked.

"Dawlish and Yaxley. Top Aurors, both."

"Yaxley's a Death Eater."

Harry stared at Ron. "You're joking."

Ron made a 'hmph' sound. "He was never caught, but Snape confirmed it."

Harry leaned back and stuffed his hands into pockets. "You know, for not being in the Order, you sure know a lot," he noted.

Ron grinned at him. "Extendable Ears."

"The what-whats?"

"Fred and George invented them for their joke shop, and a bunch of other stuff," said Ginny. "We'd been listening in on the meetings since we got here, but we haven't been able to recently. I think Sirius figured it out and charmed the door."

"You're alone for five minutes and already scheming," another voice interrupted.

Sirius and Dumbledore walked in. After greetings were exchanged, Sirius cut their discussion short.

"Hate to interrupt the war council, but the Headmaster and I need to talk to Harry."

Harry turned to his friends. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

Having apparently entered some unspoken contest, the girls tried to outdo each other in wishing Harry goodnight. Hermione hugged him again, her breath tickling his ear in a pleasant way. Ginny squeezed his hand, kissed his cheek again and gave another smile that made Harry feel a little lighter on his feet.

Sirius led him and Dumbledore to the library, snapping at Kreacher on the way to fix them something to eat. The door opened before Sirius and he gestured for Harry and Dumbledore to go inside.

"What changed your mind?" Dumbledore asked.

 _That's right,_ Harry thought. _Sirius has refused to let him in until now._

"A deep conviction that we need to focus our efforts on a matter the Order's done a fine job of ignoring so far. It's the safest place to scheme in this house. And it's cozy."

Dumbledore went in first, looking around with unconstrained interest. "Most fascinating," he said as his eyes rested on some of the books lining the walls. "And I see you've been quite busy here, Sirius."

Several tomes and a scroll were scattered haphazardly on the table.

Sirius frowned. "That wasn't me," he said, looking at Harry.

"Eh, right. Sorry about that," Harry said sheepishly, gathering the books and putting them away for later. "I, ah… let myself in."

Sirius shrugged. "It's alright. Everything here is as much yours as it is mine. And you…" He turned to Dumbledore, then rolled his eyes. "Just return anything you _borrow,"_ he finished, emphasizing the last word.

Harry blinked. "Is that why you wouldn't let him in before?" he asked, deadpan.

"You should see _his_ library," said Sirius.

Dumbledore decided that his glasses needed cleaning and rubbed them against his robes. "I have a fondness for rare books, Harry. It is a vice I've learned to live with."

Sirius guffawed. "I can already think of at least three he'd love to add to his collection."

Kreacher appeared with a tray stacked high with sandwiches. Sirius immediately grabbed one and devoured it in several bites, still somehow managing to look dignified. To Harry's surprise, Dumbledore took one as well. Sirius snapped his fingers to get his attention.

"Sorry, it's just… strange to see you do something so _mundane_ as eating a sandwich up close, Professor."

Dumbledore vanished breadcrumbs that got stuck in his beard and winked at him. "I believe you wanted to say something, Sirius?"

"Yes." Sirius pointed at Harry. "He can stare down a Dark Lord. That is nothing to sneeze at, but that alone won't keep him safe. He needs training."

Harry suddenly felt horribly exposed with both men piercing him with stares. Dumbledore sighed heavily. "These are truly dark times, when we must ask so much of our youngest."

Harry bristled. "I told you-"

The Headmaster held up a hand. "Yes, Harry, you've made your opinion known and I respect it. I don't disagree with either of you. This is as much for your own safety as other people's. There are concerns, however."

"Yes," Sirius agreed. "Firstly, this isn't the place to do it. We need more space. I was thinking of Hogwarts."

Dumbledore didn't seem surprised. "I thought you might propose that, but you must realise it would be risky. You're wanted by the Ministry."

"And Kingsley's hard at work telling them I'm in Siberia, right?"

"Not anymore. He's taken over as Head Auror, at the Minister's recommendation. Your case is now in the hands of Anton Robards."

Sirius scowled. "That bastard's still breathing? I thought someone would have poisoned him by now."

"He was quite displeased at being passed over in Kingsley's favour. As Scrimgeour's second-in-command, he believed the position would naturally fall to him. He's determined to prove himself by capturing you."

"I think that as long as there aren't any Aurors at Hogwarts, we'll be fine," said Sirius.

Harry and Dumbledore just stared.

"I spent a whole year sneaking around the school grounds with dementors crawling all over the place. What could go wrong?"

"You mean as long as Snape keeps his mouth shut," Harry added in low tones.

"Well, Headmaster? Can you keep your domesticated Death Eater quiet?" Sirius asked.

"I assure you that Severus wouldn't jeopardise the Order."

"So, it's decided."

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "We'll arrange something. Hogwarts might well be the safest option under the circumstances."

"Professor," Harry said, "You're both right. We can't just start throwing spells around in some classroom – we need a place where no one will disturb us. Where no one but the people we allow can get into. There's a place at Hogwarts that few people know of. Even fewer can get inside. I know of only two."

Dumbledore understood immediately. "An idea not without merit. I must admit it has slipped my mind."

"Wait, what are you two talking about?" Sirius interrupted.

Harry grinned at him. "How would you like to see the Chamber of Secrets?"

~~oOo~~

Harry was rather rudely woken up the next morning by Sirius threatening to dump a bucket of water on him.

"I bet you did that to Dad," Harry said as he shambled towards the bathroom.

"Typical Potter. You'd sleep your life away, if given the chance," said Sirius with a long-suffering sigh. "I want you ready downstairs in fifteen minutes. We've got work to do."

"I put a lot of effort into rescuing you, you know. Made myself even more of a target. Don't I deserve some respect?"

Sirius snorted. "Fifteen minutes, Harry."

Downstairs, he quickly ate his breakfast, then joined Sirius out back. Dumbledore was there as well. He held out a silver medallion inscribed with runes on the palm of his hand.

"Something else you were asked to test, Professor?"

"No, but I borrowed the idea," Dumbledore replied.

The Portkey whisked them away from Grimmauld Place, right past the wards around Hogwarts, into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Ugh. Does she always have to do this?" Harry grumbled as water splashed under his feet.

Sirius was looking around with disbelief.

"You're joking, right?" he deadpanned. "That's where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"

"I believe it predates the bathroom," said Dumbledore, vanishing the water and drying the floor with a simple wave of his wand. "In fact, I think it predates all bathrooms in Hogwarts."

Another flick of the wand and the door was shut and sealed.

"I've made sure that we will not be disturbed, but just in case..."

That was when Myrtle decided to see who was trespassing in her domain. She flew out of the nearest stall, splashing more water around, spectral fists clenched and eyes impossibly wide.

"Good morning, my dear," said Dumbledore.

"THIS IS THE GIRLS' BATHROOM!" Myrtle shrieked. "And you-" she pointed at Harry, "-are not welcome here. I don't want friends who promise to visit and then forget about me!"

"Miss Warren, please calm down-"

Myrtle's gaze fell on Sirius. "You've changed," she said. "For the worse. You look terrible."

Sirius pointedly stared at the ceiling.

"You know each other?" Harry asked with a grin. "There's bound to be a story behind this."

"Met? Ha!" Myrtle exclaimed. "We've talked many times in the prefects' bathroom and here, when he and his friends brew illegal potions."

Harry wagged his eyebrows at his godfather. "The prefects' bathroom, huh?"

Sirius gave him a superior look. "Have you something to say, commoner?"

Harry weighed his options. That was a dare if he ever heard one. _Be prepared to go the distance, mate,_ was the unspoken challenge.

"Dear girl," Dumbledore said, interrupting the impending contest of one-upmanship. "We're just passing through."

Myrtle's eyes grew even bigger, but this time she seemed excited rather than angry. "Are you going _down there?"_ she asked, her translucent cheeks taking on a silver hue.

"Indeed," said the Headmaster. "This is a matter of grave importance. We are counting on your discretion."

Apparently any mention of the Chamber was a sure way to placate the moody ghost.

"Oh, of course. We wouldn't want anyone finding out. Right, Harry?"

He winked at her. "Right. Thanks, Myrtle."

She floated away, disappearing into the stall she had come out of.

"Now that that's taken care of, we shouldn't linger. We have a long day ahead of us. Harry... would you do the honours?"

Harry walked up to the faucet that never worked and found the tiny snake engraved on it.

 _"Open."_

They watched as the mechanism pushed the basin aside, revealing the mouth of the enormous pipe.

"Watch out when the pipe evens out," Harry warned his companions. "It means you're getting close to the end."

He jumped in.

It was a wholly different experience than when he had made this journey the first time. Now he didn't have to worry about a giant snake whose very gaze could kill. However, whatever enjoyment he drew from the rush was crushed by the slime and dirt his clothes collected on the way down.

The pipe gradually became horizontal and he readied himself for the landing. He shot out into the tunnel, barely staying upright as he surfed on the carpet of bones.

Next came Dumbledore. Harry heard him before he saw him. The man's laugh reverberated in the low tunnel and then he came into view, robes billowing around him as he slid to a halt across the uneven floor, perfectly balanced. Sirius followed shortly, stern-faced. He left the pipe so fast that he smacked into the opposite wall. He picked himself up muttering curses and cleaned his robes with a spell.

"Not that it wasn't fun," Sirius said, "but this is the filthiest place I've ever seen and I saw my house after a decade of Kreacher not doing his job so-"

He stopped in the middle of the sentence when he saw the bones under his feet. "Lovely. Very medieval-Slytherin," he said crisply. "You could have warned me, you know."

"And miss your reaction?" Harry retorted.

Dumbledore produced a silver instrument from his robes. Upon clicking it, the device spawned a ball of light that flew to hang over their heads, illuminating the way forward. The tunnel, lined with sparse stalactites and stalagmites, had a slight drop.

With a look at Dumbledore, Harry took the lead.

"Careful, Harry. There may yet be other dangers present, in absence of the basilisk," Dumbledore warned.

Soon, they came upon the wall of rubble that blocked the tunnel, except for the small opening Ron had dug out years ago. Harry could tell just by looking that he wouldn't fit in there now.

"We'll have to clean the way before we can go any further."

"Not to worry," said Dumbledore, raising his wand. "Sirius? I could use your help with this."

Harry was no slouch with a wand, but the magic that the two men performed was beyond him. It was telling how much he still had to learn. Rarely did he get to witness such skill displayed so openly. Hermione's obsessive pursuit of knowledge made much more sense now. Even what little he'd stolen from Voldemort broadened his understanding greatly. It was strange - the more he knew, the more aware he became of how much he _didn't_ know.

No words were spoken, because no words were needed. Dumbledore and Sirius simply pointed their wands at the cave-in and the way gradually cleared. Rocks floated back into place, rebuilding the ceiling, cracks between fragments sealed themselves seamlessly and all that was left was an unblemished surface, looking as if it had never been broken.

 _That takes more than a Mending Charm._

Or perhaps there was more to the Charm than he knew.

Magic permeating the air clung to the newly repaired ceiling for a moment longer, and then dissipated, leaving a tingling sensation on his skin. It would take _years_ if he truly wanted to equal Sirius one day and he doubted he could ever match Dumbledore.

"I see that Azkaban has done nothing to dampen your prowess, Sirius," Dumbledore said, smiling.

"Well, I had a year to get back into shape. Remus helped a lot with that."

"Yes, you were always each other's favourite sparring partners. Shall we continue?"

"What about Dad?" Harry asked.

Sirius cleared his throat. "He was great, but Remus is a werewolf."

Harry didn't understand the exact implication. "Oh. Right. I, err, see what you mean."

He moved in front of the group again, seeing by the light from Dumbledore's trinket. They came around another corner and Harry immediately stopped.

Before them lay a giant shed skin. If his memory was right, it was no smaller than the one he'd seen when he first came here. Still, he was sure it wasn't the same skin.

He remembered his battle with the basilisk well. The beast had been more than sixty feet long, with green scales and yellow eyes. Similarly, the skin it had shed was the same shade of deep green, like Slytherin banners. The skin he was looking at was a distinct, dark blue colour. And now that he thought of it...

"That's not where we found it," he whispered.

"Found what?" Sirius asked. "Harry, we're in Salazar Slytherin's secret base. If something is not where it's supposed to-"

"The skin. Professor, last time I was here, Ron, Lockhart and I saw the skin before Lockhart collapsed the tunnel. We should've passed it already. Could it have decomposed?"

"It's a possibility," said Dumbledore. "Or it could have been... consumed by other dwellers of the Chamber. They must somehow find their way down here."

"This skin is different. I'm sure I only saw one back then."

"There are surely other tunnels here, perhaps hidden from sight," Dumbledore theorised. "Is it possible we've taken a wrong turn somewhere?"

Harry looked around. "I don't think so. This tunnel is pretty distinctive."

"Maybe the snake wasn't as dead as you thought, then," said Sirius.

Harry felt his stomach twist and drop. "I stabbed its head, Sirius. How could it still be alive? And would it change colours?"

"Harry, do you remember if perhaps the basilisk had a red marking on its head, not unlike a crown?" asked Dumbledore.

"No. It had green scales. Red would have stood out."

"Well... I cannot say if a basilisk could change the colour of its skin," Dumbledore said, "but I am quite certain it cannot change its gender. Such a property would have been mentioned in the old texts."

Dumbledore lit up his wand and pointed to one end of the skin. Just above where the eyes would be was a protruding ridge, the red scales standing out in sharp contrast with the surrounding blue ones. Harry could see the crown-like shape.

"If you're sure of your recollection, Harry, then the basilisk you killed was female. The one that shed this skin would be male."

"There's another basilisk down here? Oh, joy," said Sirius.

Dumbledore stepped forward. "If I am correct in my assumption, then we must be even more careful. I shall take the lead now, I think."

"If anything moves, close your eyes," Harry muttered.

Sirius squinted. "Yeah, I got that."

They moved much more slowly from then on, taking every step with caution. The silence made Harry's ears ring, it was so unnatural. Dumbledore carefully peeked around the next corner, and then...

 _"I smell you."_

Harry stopped mid-stride. He could distinguish Parseltongue now, even though it sounded like English to him.

"Stop!" he exclaimed.

 _"You're here. You came to me."_

"There is definitely another basilisk here. I can hear it."

Dumbledore was next to him in a blink of an eye. "Can you tell where-"

"It's close, but I don't know exactly."

 _"I CAN SMELL YOU!"_

Dumbledore was looking at something over his shoulder. "Don't move, Harry," he warned quietly.

Harry could hear that something enormous slithered towards them, the scraping of scales against stone. The stale air shifted when he felt the basilisk's large body coil in the tunnel behind him.

"There must be a connecting tunnel hidden in the walls somewhere..." Sirius whispered. "That's how it snuck up on us."

"I shall collapse the ceiling and call Fawkes," Dumbledore said. "Be prepared on my mark-"

 _"Master,"_ came another hiss. It lacked the hostile undertone Harry was expecting.

"What?" he blurted out.

The giant serpent wasn't moving to attack them.

"Harry?"

"Don't block the tunnel yet, Professor," he said. "But you should probably stand back... just in case."

"Harry, what the hell are you-"

"It called me 'Master'."

A ball of fire erupted between them and the basilisk and Fawkes materialised in the tunnel. The phoenix flew close to the ceiling, soaring over the serpent, slashing at it with its talons. The basilisk responded in kind, snapping the powerful jaws at where the phoenix had been just a moment before, moving faster than it seemed possible for a creature of its size.

With an angry chirp, Fawkes landed on Dumbledore's shoulder, locking gazes with the basilisk. The lethal stare couldn't harm him.

 _"Phoenix. Why is it here, Master?"_

Harry could hardly believe his ears. The snake had apparently given him its allegiance.

"Professor, tell Fawkes not to do anything. I don't think the basilisk is hostile."

Dumbledore nodded. "Be careful, Harry. I am right behind you."

Harry turned to the basilisk, though he didn't dare even peek in the direction of the head. _"Do you mean to attack us?"_

 _"Master?"_ came the response. It was underlined with doubt.

The conversation continued in short, on-point sentences. The basilisk's vocabulary was simple and it obviously wasn't intelligent in a way a person was, but it wasn't so different from Fawkes or Hedwig in that regard. It seemed to understand Harry without great difficulty and somehow conveyed emotions with its words. Like many magical creatures, the basilisk was self-aware and had the sort of presence that made it clear it wasn't simply a dumb animal.

 _"Won't you look at me, Master? Am I not magnificent?"_

 _"I'll die,"_ Harry protested. _"Your gaze will kill me."_

 _"I only direct my magic at your enemies, Master. Are you my enemy? Are your companions?"_

 _"No!"_ Harry said quickly. _"You have no enemies here. We came to explore the Chamber."_

 _"Then why won't you look at me?"_

Rationally, Harry knew it was a stupid idea. A tiny voice in his head was telling him to look at the basilisk. It was the same voice that told him to jump whenever he climbed the Astronomy Tower.

"Harry, no!"

He looked up.

A second passed. Then another. His heart was going to burst from his chest any moment now...

 _If this is what death feels like,_ he thought, _it's remarkably like being alive._

"Merlin's balls!" he heard Sirius exclaim.

The basilisk lifted its head as high as the ceiling allowed, jaws hanging slightly apart. It flicked its tongue, tasting the air.

 _"Am I not beautiful?"_

Harry let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. When he wasn't fighting one, there was indeed something to be admired about the King of Serpents. It was... majestic. Regal. Terrifying.

 _"You are,"_ Harry agreed. _"So you can control your killing look?"_

The snake snapped its jaws again. _"My strike is always precise, whichever weapon I use."_

 _"You won't hurt my friends, then?"_

 _"I will if Master commands... Or when I'm hungry..."_

Harry froze. _"Are you hungry now?"_

The basilisk looked at him, tilting its head and blinked twice. _"No."_

For a long moment, only breathing broke the silence. Then Harry threw back his head and laughed. "I have my own basilisk," he said at last, turning back to the others. "However that happened."

"On a scale of one to ten," said Sirius, "how confident are you it won't eat us when we're least expecting it? Hey, what are you doing?"

Harry wasn't listening. One careful step after another, he approached the basilisk. The snake seemed to read his intentions somehow and lowered its head.

"Harry..."

"It's okay," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "I just want to try something..."

He placed a hand on the basilisk's red crown, patting it gently.

"You're not so scary, are you?" he said. "I mean... you're just- thousands of pounds of venomous death. But still, not so bad."

He turned to face Sirius and Dumbledore again. "You can look. He won't hurt you."

"He?" Sirius asked. "Are you telling me this monster has a _personality?"_

Harry grinned. "Something like that."

"Remarkable," Dumbledore said. "This area - and the Chamber itself, I assume - has been masterfully enchanted. The process must have taken years. I wonder what we may yet discover."

"Maybe some answers as to why this lethal beast is letting Harry pet it like a kneazle."

Harry laughed. "But doesn't it look cuddly? Just a little bit?"

"And I thought I was crazy..."

 _"Lead us to the Chamber."_

They moved out of the way as the basilisk slithered past them, hissing to Harry, _"It's good that you came, Master. I've been alone for a long time."_

The Chamber of Secrets had not changed since Harry's last visit. Snake-engraved columns held up the ceiling. At the far end a statue of Salazar Slytherin towered over the cavernous dungeon. Its mouth was open, as Riddle had left it. At Salazar's feet was a small pond, surface completely still. Harry wondered how deep it was.

 _Pretty deep, if a basilisk can fit in there._

The serpent coiled itself around one of the columns. The powerful body, thicker than the column itself, looked as if it could easily crush the stone. It watched Harry intently as he walked towards Slytherin's statue.

He stopped halfway, in the middle of the Chamber, and waited for Dumbledore and Sirius to join him.

Dumbledore looked up to Fawkes. "It appears we won't be needing your assistance after all, my friend."

Fawkes soared upwards, then back into the the tunnel and out of sight.

"The basilisk seems to obey without question," Dumbledore said to Harry. "And it looks quite young."

"Yes, the previous one was bigger."

"Speaking of the previous one," Sirius chimed in, "wasn't there supposed to be a giant snake corpse here?"

Harry blinked. "One moment." He turned to the basilisk and hissed the question. The answer was fairly obvious. "Er, he ate it."

Sirius grimaced at the snake. "A cannibal as well? Maybe we can get him to eat Voldemort."

"I suspect there is a nest somewhere," Dumbledore said. "The enchantments... yes... They are quite archaic, of course, but if I'm interpreting them correctly, Slytherin had placed contingencies in case of the basilisk's death."

"Looks like we'll be down here for a while," said Sirius. "Anyone hungry? I brought sandwiches."

~~oOo~~

"What news?"

All eyes in the room were on Directors Crouch, Plateau and Cresswell. Today, they were supposed to deliver their progress reports before the rest of the Cabinet - save for Croaker, who wasn't there. His absence bothered no one - the Chief Unspeakable would get the news through his own channels.

"Three days isn't exactly enough time to secure the cooperation of a foreign government," said Crouch, "but I was able to speak with the French unofficially. They confirmed our suspicions."

"Certain individuals, formerly suspected of being Death Eaters, are funnelling large amounts of money to the continent," said Plateau. "Some is being spread around Europe-"

"Germany, Switzerland, Austria, the Balkans," Crouch cut in.

"-but more than half is going to a single entity. The Malfoy estate in France, currently controlled by Sylvestre Malfoy."

Plateau looked to Cresswell next. The frazzled Director of the Goblin Liaison Office stood and smoothed his robes. "I have some connections in French and German Gringotts branches. Goblins are furious. They believe such roundabout operations violate the last treaty's provisions. After reviewing the law, I'm inclined to agree. There's no reason to do any of that unless you want to hide something. The same thing happened almost twenty years ago and, just like back then, Sylvestre Malfoy is involved. Unfortunately, he bought himself immunity after giving up some names. Among others, his information led to the capture of Evan Rosier."

A collective shudder was shared among those old enough to remember the war. Rosier had been one of the most notorious Death Eaters, surpassed in infamy only by the Lestranges and The Butcher.

"So you can see how getting to him will be difficult," Cresswell finished and sat back down.

"Very well, but what does it all mean?" asked the Minister impatiently.

Crouch stood up again, piercing the Minister with his steel-grey eyes. "Simply put, people who were once on trial for being Death Eaters are stockpiling gold in amounts sufficient to fund a prolonged war. That gold is going to places and people who were themselves suspected of associating with You-Know-Who. All of this is rattling the goblins, which in turn upsets the stability of the nation and compromises security. Lastly, according to Rufus, werewolves are on the move, gathering under Fenrir Greyback's banner."

Crouch paused and took deep breath. "It seems clear to me that Dumbledore and the Potter boy are telling the truth."

Percy watched the events unfold from his seat near the door, where he sat with several others of the Minister's staff. Being a Junior Assistant, he possessed more power than he expected to have at nineteen, though that power was of the obscure, unassuming kind. Well, he had technically helped run the Foreign Office last year, but that had been superficial. Paradoxically, now that he didn't work there anymore, Crouch had actually learned his name. The Director always took a moment to acknowledge him if they happened to pass each other by.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as quickly as if a dementor had entered.

"Barty, Marcus..." the Minister said, his tone almost pleading. "That is simply preposterous. Surely you must see it."

"There are too many parallels to ignore them, Cornelius," said Scrimgeour. "In any case, shutting down this enterprise is in our best interest. We can't afford to antagonise goblins, not with the Registration Act vote coming up. If it passes, we could have a werewolf uprising on our hands and that's just bad business, regardless of who's giving them orders."

"Have we explored all options? Insisting on something so utterly impossible... You-Know-Who... this is most troubling, certainly, but-"

"Sir?" someone spoke up further down the table. "What about Sirius Black?"

Percy had to put conscious effort into holding back a scoff.

 _Maybe Dad was right after all. Madness, this is._

He knew of the Order, of course, though he wasn't a member. There was no question whether Dumbledore and Harry Potter were telling the truth. Percy wasn't an idiot. He doubted Dumbledore would involve this many people in a complex charade to lie about the return of You-Know-Who. No, he had another kind of problem.

He wasn't vigilante material. His strength lay in his intelligence, ambition and work ethic. When the Minister himself had approached him about a position on his staff, had his parents honestly expected him to turn it down?

Now he was stuck between Fudge's growing paranoia and his family's growing resentment. Well, not all of them resented him. Ron, Ginny and the twins didn't seem that interested in the finer nuances of inter-Ministry politics.

Dad was... displeased.

"I thought I raised you better than that," he'd said.

He seemed to think that Percy was betraying his family for a job. Mum just wanted it to be over and Bill and Charlie changed their opinions every other day.

What a mess.

Th chatter died down and the Minister's voice rose above the commotion.

"Quiet, please! Thank you. Now, Rufus, isn't it a more feasible theory than You-Know-Who? Sirius Black was his most-"

"Sirius Black wasn't marked," Scrimgeour interrupted. "Not to mention how ridiculous it sounds. Black was twenty-one when he was arrested. There are many other possible candidates, older, more experienced and influential, that fit the bill. In my professional opinion, Black was never a Death Eater. His betrayal of the Potters could have happened for any number of reasons."

"Still, it seems more reasonable than You-Know-Who returning from beyond the grave," Fudge said. "Who knows what he's done since escaping Azkaban. It would be a disservice to the people of Britain for us to ignore that."

Scrimgeour grimaced, but bit back whatever nasty comment had to be on his tongue. Instead, he said, "I shall leave no stone unturned."

"Excellent! If there is nothing else, I believe we are adjourned."

It took Percy a moment to remember himself. He jumped to his feet as people started leaving.

"Minister, Director Scrimgeour and Head Auror requested a private briefing. Your security detail is being updated."

"Ah, thank you, Percy."

Soon, the only people left were Percy, Fudge, Scrimgeour, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Fudge's shadows, Dawlish and Yaxley. Percy often wondered if they hadn't been chosen for the job just because they both looked like they could wrestle a bear and come out victorious.

"Rufus, do you mind? I assure you that young Mr. Weasley has my full confidence," said Fudge.

 _Not a ringing endorsement, coming from you._

Scrimgeour glared at him suspiciously, but waved it off. "Whatever you say, Cornelius. It's a simple matter."

"Auror Anton Robards is currently in charge of the Sirius Black case," said Shacklebolt. "Of course, I will assign Robards additional resources and people now that Black is our prime suspect..."

"Spit it out, Kingsley," Scrimgeour snapped.

"Auror Yaxley has vast experience with cases like Black's. His talents will be of great use to Robards. Perhaps, Minister, you'd consider releasing him from his current obligation."

Percy's eyebrow rose at the unspoken tug-of-war happening in front of him. From Bill, he knew that Shacklebolt was one of Dumbledore's men. This 'security update' seemed awfully spontaneous. Was the Head Auror trying to place a person close to Fudge, or remove one? It could be about Yaxley specifically. Either way, it was shady business.

Those kinds of games made working for the Minister infinitely more interesting.

"Do you have someone in mind? I must say, I've grown rather accustomed to Yaxley."

"I will have several names for you by the end of the day," said Shacklebolt. "Auror Yaxley will continue his current duties until then, of course."

"What do you think, Rufus?" Fudge asked.

Scrimgeour exchanged a glance with his subordinate. Percy wondered if he wasn't reading too much into things. Then again, Scrimgeour's short tenure as Director so far had revealed a certain pattern.

 _It looks an awful lot like he's trying to position himself for a softer landing when You-Know-Who finally makes his move. Or perhaps he just wants Fudge's job. He's not so different from Crouch._

"I think the Head Auror knows what he's talking about."

"Fine," said Fudge. "If you think it will help catch Black..."

"I'm certain of it, sir. We've happened upon some promising leads recently."

The briefing concluded shortly after that. Percy took some notes. He was ready to hurry out after his boss when, to his surprise, he was stopped by Shacklebolt.

"Mr. Weasley, a moment please. Just something I need you to add to the documentation."

"Um, of course. I'll be along presently, Minister."

When he turned to face Shacklebolt again, the large man was mere inches away. A hand slipped something into his pocket.

"Just a few forms, you understand. The paper pushers in the archives like having three copies of everything. How are you, by the way? I've heard good things about you from Crouch."

"Yes, he's been kind enough to give me a recommendation. I'm fine, by the way," Percy said.

"That's quite an accomplishment, for someone so young. You should nurture such relationships."

Then, after handing him a folder of forms, Shacklebolt was gone from the room in a moment, moving with surprising fluidity for a man of his size.

Almost two hours passed before Percy could examine whatever it was Shacklebolt had given him safely. It was a note, written in a scraggly, uncouth script. The handwriting was unfamiliar to him.

 _Burrow, 9 pm tonight. Tell no one. Destroy this message._

Well, wasn't that interesting.

~~oOo~~

Percy stayed after hours, as he did most days. The Minister's staff actually got decent overtime pay, unlike some of the less prestigious positions - his father's underlings, for example.

He went over the paperwork again - the forms Shacklebolt had given him had to be filled out in triplicate. Thank Merlin for Dicta-Quills.

The documents were filed, the schedule for tomorrow ironed out. First on the list, a morning press conference. People were getting restless. Werewolves were stirring up trouble and Umbridge's new law was gaining more support. Morally, Percy knew this law was a bad one. The Registration Act already in place was a constant irritation to lycanthropes nationwide, but if the amendment passed - which it probably would - all werewolves in Wizarding Britain would be required to either show up monthly at the Ministry or come under investigation.

Punishments were severe: fail to comply and you could be incarcerated, your property seized, you'd lose your job - if you even had one in first place. Employment for werewolves was scarce. Remus Lupin had been able to teach at Hogwarts because he had refused to register with the Ministry after the law passed and slipped through the net. When his secret became known, he left the very next morning, avoiding arrest only thanks to Dumbldore's influence.

Because of this, Lupin gained unexpected notoriety among werewolves. Percy knew some Ministry apologists who believed him to be Greyback's right hand. The swelling public discontent pushed the Minister to sign a new arrest order and amend another one, to be announced at the press conference. Sirius Black, Fenrir Greyback and Remus Lupin, all believed to have had past connections to Death Eaters or You-Know-Who himself, were suspected of conspiring to destabilise Wizarding Britain. Kiss-on-sight orders were issued or re-issued for all three.

Coming out of _that_ meeting with the Minister, Scrimgeour had looked like a stormcloud, ready to smite anyone in his way with lightning.

Percy wondered if he had been mad because he disagreed with Fudge or because his Department had been, for the second time that week, hijacked by the Minister.

And now Professor Lupin wouldn't even be able to buy groceries anymore.

Percy's singular visit to the ominous Grimmauld Place Twelve had been shocking, to say the least. He had gone there at his mother's request, to talk to Dad on neutral ground. While they were talking - if it could be called that - Sirius Black strolled in, brandishing several bottles of Butterbeer and pushed one into Percy's numb hands.

"Arthur, I wanted to talk to you about something. It's important. But first, how many sons do you have, exactly? Who might this be?"

Then Professor Dumbledore, who hadn't exchanged more than a few dozen words with him during Percy's seven years at Hogwarts, sat him down to instill the importance of keeping the secrets he was now privy to. His head was still spinning when he stumbled into his flat later that evening, and not because of Butterbeer.

He hadn't had anything to do with the Order since then, apart from Bill and Charlie poking him with questions. He grew tired of their nagging and stopped visiting the Burrow, focusing on his work for the last few weeks.

The note from Shacklebolt wasn't written by his parents or any of his siblings. Well, Bill perhaps.

It was all as strange as it was intriguing.

He left the Ministry an hour before the specified time of the meeting, just enough time for dinner. Being a terrible cook, he resigned himself to ordering muggle takeout again. His flat was comfortable enough, but he couldn't wait to move closer to Diagon Alley. He didn't feel comfortable with all the muggles around.

He passed time until dinner arrived by reading the Evening Prophet. Skeeter was doing all she could to ramp up the excitement for tomorrow's announcement, hinting at things she really shouldn't know about. As had become customary, there were biting remarks about Harry Potter and Professor Dumbledore, though never in Skeeter's articles.

At quarter to nine, he left the flat and traversed England via Floo and two careful apparitions. His watch chimed the hour as he approached the Burrow.

He knocked on the door. Bill opened, looking his usual disheveled self and ushered him inside. "I'll leave you two alone," he said, and left the kitchen.

There, sitting at the table, was Harry, looking dramatically different to the boy Percy remembered from the Quidditch World Cup.

"Hey Perce," he said. "It's been too long."

~~oOo~~

The Grim crawled through the bushes, padding silently, head close to the ground as he sneaked up on his target.

A stocky man in nondescript robes was crouched next to a tree, holding a pair of binoculars as he watched Percy Weasley walk down the road.

Having cast a Silencing Charm on himself earlier, Sirius crept forward, coming right up to the man's back before transforming. He patted the man on the shoulder. The man turned around, eyes wide.

"Hi," said Sirius and raised his wand, stunning his target with practiced ease.

Bushes to his right parted, revealing Remus.

"It feels good to be out in the field again, Moony." He inhaled deeply. "I was getting seriously sick of being stuck inside."

"I still can't believe Dumbledore consented to this after you let Peter catch you."

"Oh don't be such a bore. Aren't you glad to have me along? Besides, I was going bonkers in the house. And I couldn't very well keep depriving our noble cause of my skills, could I?"

"The same skills that led to your capture?" Remus asked.

"You're trying to poke holes in water. Did you get yours?"

Remus pulled out an Auror's badge. "Yes."

A quick search of the stunned man's pockets revealed another one.

"He's not marked," Sirius said, checking the left arm. "Not a Death Eater, then."

"Or simply not a marked one," Remus pointed out.

"You really think Voldemort would care to track Percy Weasley? No offense to him, I hear he's a smart chap, but-"

"Point taken. I didn't really think those two were Death Eaters either. What do we do with them?"

"We'll take them to Sturgis," Sirius said. "Hestia will keep watch."

Sturgis, a freelancer Hit-wizard, had joined the Order on Dumbledore's personal recommendation. He was waiting for them in the London safehouse, the same one where Jervis Mulciber had been a guest not long ago.

"Sirius, Remus. I see you've brought trophies."

"We'll wait until Percy leaves. Hestia is on lookout," said Sirius.

"One of us should stay with Sturgis, just in case."

"Why don't we take Hestia's place?" Sirius suggested. "She can help watch these two. We're better scouts anyway."

So agreed, they switched places with the witch and took a position on the hill behind the Burrow.

"I'll do a lap around the house," said Sirius.

"Try not to get captured while you're at it."

"Oh ha ha."

Sirius turned into Padfoot again and leapt forward, his powerful legs taking him in a large circle around the Burrow. He sensed no danger and caught no suspicious scents. He stopped briefly on another hilltop, casting a look at the Lovegoods' house in the distance.

His patrol complete, he transformed again, standing next to Remus. "Isn't this great, Moony? Just like old times!"

"Yes, just like the last war. Spies everywhere. My heart swells with joy."

"Eh, you're ruining the mood," Sirius whined. "But... you have a point."

"Let's just hope we learned something from the last time."

"Sure we did," said Sirius. "Never trust a rat."


	10. CHAPTER THREE: Opening Moves, Part 2

**CHAPTER THREE: Opening Moves**

 **Part 2**

 _"Minister, if Greyback was so closely watched, how did he escape?"_

There was a long pause and the only sounds coming out of the Wireless were the rustling of parchment, scraping of quills and the clicking of camera shutters.

 _"Director Scrimgeour assures me he will commit all available resources to investigating this matter,"_ came Fudge's voice. _"At this time, the most likely scenario is that Fenrir Greyback had help... from inside the Ministry."_

The uproar that followed was deafening. Several individual voices dominated the crowd, trying to calm them down.

 _"Minister Fudge, does this mean that Sirius Black's agents have infiltrated government structures?"_

 _"Unfortunately... yes, it's the most likely explanation. Of course, the culprit or culprits will be found and brought to justice. That is all. Thank you."_

Fudge must have left the stage because the broadcast was taken over by a reporter, who began a summary of the revelation-filled press conference.

 _"According to Minister Cornelius Fudge, the infamous murderer and former high-ranking lieutenant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is behind the recent unrest in Britain. Suspected of cooperating with disgruntled werewolves, Black-"_

The reporter didn't get to finish. Remus flung the Wireless across the room, where it shattered against a wall. Sirius was at his side in an instant.

"Moony, calm down. We'll get the bastard ourselves if the Ministry can't."

"Then why are we sitting here, _doing nothing?"_ Harry interjected.

"Harry, don't start something," Sirius said sternly.

Harry glared at Sirius, who glared right back. "Sit down," he ordered. "Before you blow something up."

All occupants of Grimmauld Place Twelve had gathered in the living room to listen to the Minister's much expected address. No doubt Fudge had intended for it to go differently. According to what Percy had said the night before, Fudge wanted to talk about the formation of the new unit dedicated solely to capturing Sirius and his associates and rooting out their followers among werewolves - a way to reassure people mere days before the Wizengamot vote on the amended Registration Act. But Percy couldn't know that Voldemort's agents would break out Greyback in the middle of the night. Fudge's day of triumph had turned into a disaster.

"Fudge is creating a boogeyman. He spent the last three months denying Voldemort's return and blaming everything Voldemort has done on you," said Harry, looking at Sirius.

"The way it keeps going, I'll be a Dark Lord before Christmas," Sirius replied. The joke received no applause. "I know it's bad, but it does give us a card to play later. At some point, Voldemort will come out of hiding. Fudge will be out on his arse and we will stand vindicated."

"There'll be chaos. Great!" Harry threw up his hands. "How does that help us?"

"Voldemort wants to take over the country. He can't do that without a working Ministry. Sure, it'll be tough for us, but even tougher for him. By default, he's the enemy. It'll take more effort from him to make himself a hero than from us to keep him a villain. Change like that is always harder than maintaining status quo."

Slowly, people left the room to process all they had just witnessed, and, Harry suspected, to put some distance between themselves and Remus – who promptly left, slamming the door with thunder – and Harry himself. Considering what had happened in the last few days, he wasn't surprised. His friends didn't seem to care, though.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, rubbing his shoulder. Ron hovered around, naturally gravitating towards Hermione, as he was wont to do recently.

"Of course he is," Ginny answered for him. "And those two obviously need to talk. Let's give them some space." She then unceremoniously pulled Ron and Hermione out of the room.

Sirius was leaning against the wall, arms crossed on his chest.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Harry kicked the remains of the Wireless. "I'm fine."

"Okay, let's try something different. What are you thinking?"

Harry paused, staring at the broken radio. What _was_ he thinking?

"I think we should be doing more. That we really need Crouch. That- fuck."

"Tell me," Sirius gentry prodded.

"I think that Voldemort is winning right now."

To his surprise, Sirius smiled.

"What's funny about this? Why the hell are you laughing?"

"Come on," Sirius said. "You need to work off some of that anger. Moody's probably waiting for us."

Harry didn't have a lot of free time these days. He'd spent hours exploring the Chamber with Dumbledore. The Headmaster had guessed correctly that it held more than one Secret. One in particular would take several more days to unravel completely. Slytherin had created an expansive underground complex around the Chamber itself.

Harry and Sirius used a portkey Dumbledore had created for the exclusive purpose of coming and going to Hogwarts quickly and in secret. It deposited them in a small room within the castle. Dumbledore created it before Harry's eyes in a dazzling feat of magic.

"I dare not alter the bathroom," he explained. "It represents an important piece of Hogwarts' history. However, if we are to use the Chamber, I think this will suffice for an entrance."

The new room was hidden behind a plain wall around the corner from Myrtle's bathroom. A password was required to enter, and then another to part the wall hiding the pipe. At the moment, only four people had access. Each of them - Harry, Dumbledore, Sirius and Moody - had their own set of passwords and those were the only ones they knew.

Sirius leaned towards the wall, whispered his password and it split, not unlike the entrance to the Slytherin dorms. Beyond there was a row of old school broomsticks that no one would miss and the opening of the pipe. Harry and Sirius each grabbed a broom and a short flight later they emerged into the tunnel. Another of the brooms was propped up against the wall - Moody was already here, then.

The animal remains were gone and the floor was now a smooth, curling path, all Dumbledore's work. The tunnel was brightly lit with lanterns and torches.

"Have you mapped out all the tunnels yet?" Sirius asked as they walked.

"No, there are a few intersections we still need to check and it'll be a few days before we can do it. Dumbledore's busy and he doesn't want me going there by myself."

"Well, no wonder. There's a basilisk lurking."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That joke is only three days old and it's already _old."_

"It's a great joke!" Sirius protested. "How often do you get to say that and there's actually a basilisk around?"

"I'll tell him to eat you. That'll be amusing."

"You're no fun."

They reached the Chamber - the door had been left open permanently. There were ways to enter it via some of the tunnels, but they were confusing enough that Dumbledore placed signs at several intersections, in case someone had the misfortune to get lost there.

A hiss came from the nearby shadows. _"Master."_

Harry turned to face the basilisk, emerging from one of the side passages. Torchlight flickered on the blue scales as it went past. Harry patted it on the snout. _"You may go on."_

The basilisk always came by to greet him whenever he was here.

"It still creeps me out," said Sirius.

Harry grinned. "You're just jealous that my animal friends are cooler than yours."

"Are they? You have an owl - oh my, what a catch - and a giant murderous snake that can turn on you and swallow you whole at any time."

Harry crossed his arms. "And you have a hippogriff. Not exactly and exotic specimen. There's an entire herd literally above our heads."

"Buckbeak can fly," Sirius shot back, his eyes narrowing.

"So can Hedwig."

"Yes, but you can't ride Hedwig, can you?"

"I have a broom."

"Oh, boo hoo."

They entered the Chamber itself. Dumbledore had done some work here as well. He had found ways to add permanent Scouring Charms without collapsing Slytherin's magic. He claimed it had been a real challenge, but Harry wasn't sure. He watched Dumbledore accomplish it in a grand total of nine minutes.

The mold and grime accumulated over the years had been removed and the Chamber better lit. Now all the tunnel openings were clearly visible in the walls. Some were twenty feet above the floor.

"You're late, Potter," Moody said as they approached.

"He had to use the bathroom. I told him to go earlier... Kids. What can you do?"

"You're full of shit, Sirius," said Harry.

Moody gave a throaty chuckle. "Whatever. Let's get started. Sirius, stand back. Potter, you know the drill."

He did. He'd been practicing with Moody for several days now. The instructions were always the same.

"Hit me."

Harry secretly hated the confidence with which Moody dismissed him. The ex-Auror was remarkably fast for someone who seemed to be mostly composed of scars and with, it would seem, a serious handicap that was his fake leg. Harry took it for an inherent property of wizards. Dumbledore was over a hundred years old and he'd never seen anyone manipulate magic with the same ease the Headmaster displayed.

Harry danced around Moody, who didn't even bother to move from his position, and did his best to defend against the magical onslaught. He couldn't be sure - Moody rarely used verbal incantations - but most of the spells connecting with his shield seemed to be simple prank spells, like Jelly-Legs or the Trip Jinx. Even against those, he was hard pressed to keep up.

There was no way he could even try to launch an attack of his own. He could probably take on any of his peers, but against an opponent of Moody's calibre it was back to basics: survive. Once he could do that effectively, he would move on to trying to land a hit of his own.

Ultimately, his pride took a worse beating than his body.

Moody dispelled the ropes binding him. "Do you feel bad about yourself, Potter?

"Oh, of course not. Why would I?" Harry replied, massaging his arms.

"Good. You should feel bad, because that was pathetic. When your father graduated, the Auror Office was practically begging him to sign up. Same with Black here. I didn't know them at fifteen, but I bet they were better than you are."

"I think we were supposed to encourage him," said Sirius.

"You can coddle him if you want, but I'll give it to him straight."

Harry bit down on the remark that leapt to the tip of his tongue. "I'm ready to continue," he said instead.

"We'll continue when I say so. Listen - and look at me when I'm talking to you."

Harry looked up.

Moody hobbled closer. Outside of combat, he moved slowly, heavily, the peg leg cracking loudly. "Remember all I said and this: your efforts, if you could call them that, are still laughable, but you're allowed to feel a bit less pathetic today. I wouldn't say anything if I wasn't absolutely sure, but by Merlin's flaming pants, you're already improving somehow. After a few days. If my trainees had had half of your drive, we'd have more Aurors like Kingsley today."

"Thanks... I guess. But you still had me in a minute."

Without warning, Sirius flicked a Stinging Hex at him. Harry yelped and almost dropped his wand when the spell landed precisely on his wrist.

"Heads up," Sirius said. "Defend yourself." He let loose a string of spells, though Harry could tell he was holding back. He blocked, deflected or shielded against all of Sirius' attacks. Then, Sirius stopped and looked at Moody.

"I don't think he noticed."

"Noticed what?" Harry asked, eyebrows riding up beneath his fringe.

Moody cleared his throat. "Demonstrate the Shield Charm. Wand movement, incantation, everything."

With practiced ease, Harry performed the appropriate gesture. _"Protego."_ There was no visible effect, but Harry knew there was a shield there.

"Good. Now, defend yourself," Sirius said again, following with another volley. Harry had no idea what the point of this was.

Sirius snorted.

"I'm glad I amuse you," said Harry.

"Demonstrate the Shield Charm," Sirius ordered. "Nice and proper. Imagine that Flitwick is watching."

Once again, Harry cast the spell.

"Very good. Defend yourself. No blocking though. You're only allowed to shield."

Another string of spells flew from Sirius' wand. The realisation hit him just as the last spell bounced harmlessly off his shield. In that instant, he was alone, all else forgotten. He raised another shield. And another.

He didn't utter a single syllable. He barely moved his wand. And yet, every time the shield snapped into place, strong and thrumming with magic as usual. How long had he been doing non-verbal magic without noticing it?

"I think he gets it now," he heard Sirius say.

"Aye, I reckon he does."

"But I didn't even think about it! It just... happened."

"Yeah, these things have a habit of 'just happening'. You know the spell, Harry," Sirius said, his smile strangely disquieting. "I don't just mean that you've studied the theory, read about it. You've _used_ it. You _know_ it. Whatever else you learn about magic, that which you already know will help you better understand everything else. It'll all fall into place, like the pieces of a puzzle."

"Hermione can't do this, and she studies more than I do."

Sirius clapped him on the back. "In theory, there's no difference between theory and practice. In practice, there is."

~~oOo~~

Sirius downed his drink and haphazardly threw the glass over his shoulder. It didn't shatter, but landed gently in the sink where it was scrubbed and cleaned by the animated brushes, courtesy of Molly's household charms. Remus was sipping his Butterbeer at the table. The werewolf stayed away from stronger alcohol around the full moon.

"And that's all, so far," Sirius said. "I swear to Merlin, he just did it and didn't even notice he was doing it."

Tonks was skeptical. "Non-verbal magic isn't unheard of at his age, but the other thing... I couldn't cast a perfect shield until I was recuited by the Auror Office."

"Don't take this personally, Tonksie-" Sirius began.

"Sure, why would I?" she snapped, her hair blooming into a striking red.

"-but for all your delicious deviousness, you're not what I'd call a natural talent. You're a Hufflepuff. You're hardworking. You're also a Black, which of course gives you a leg up on all the other badgers, but Harry just has this _something..._ same as his Dad."

Tonks scowled, but said nothing. It was true. Dumbledore had an eye for talent - The Order was full of it - and he was giving Harry private lessons. That counted for something.

"Last year," Sirius continued, "he learned the Summoning Charm in one afternoon. One day he had trouble with pillows, the next he Summoned his broom from the castle!"

Tonks nodded. She'd read the Prophet. It had been, apparently, one of the few things they got right.

"Corporeal Patronus in his third year," Remus chimed in.

"My point exactly!" Sirius exclaimed. "Harry just gets along with magic. And he _gets_ it. Under my tutelage he'll be improving by leaps and bounds."

"It's good to know your ego's intact, Padfoot," said Remus.

Sirius wagged a finger at him. "It isn't boasting if it's true."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's still boasting regardless," said Tonks.

Sirius ignored her remark. "Anyway, it was good of you to come. I've a favor to ask."

Remus sighed. "I told you - I'm not helping you break into Ogden's brewery."

"No, it's not that. I need you to help me teach Harry. You know, the werewolf way of handling things."

"What are you talking about?" Tonks asked.

Sirius poured himself another glass of Firewhiskey. "Harry thinks like a wizard. We need to expand his... um..."

"Perspective?"

Sirius snapped his fingers. "Yes! Perspective. Thank you, Tonksie."

"Stop calling me that."

"He's been spending too much time around wizards," Sirius went on, his smile smugly unrepentant. "We need to show him how to think like a _Marauder."_

Tonks groaned. "Will you ever give up this stupid nickname?"

Sirius made an effort to look outraged for a moment. "Tonks, dear, you can't possibly comprehend the- camaraderie... or something..."

"You're drunk," Remus observed. Sirius grinned at him, saluting with his glass.

"You still want to teach him Dark Arts?" Tonks asked, frowning.

"Yes."

"Don't you think you should at least wait a bit? I'm not saying I'm against it-"

"That sounds like you're against it to me," said Sirius.

"-but you two tried it early and look at you now. Remus can't get through one full moon without a headache, even with the bloody potion, and you'e not exactly, um… sane."

"There's no time to waste. Besides, he's already in. He needs a guide on the Dark path, or he'll end up like me. Or Snape," Sirius said, grimacing. "We have enough loathsome dungeon dwellers in the Order already."

"Tell me again where you're conducting this 'teaching Harry' business?" Tonks asked, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, might it be an ancient dungeon? Built by Sal-"

"Shut up, Tonks."

"You just want an excuse to corrupt him. Well, say something!" she snapped at Remus.

"My dear cousin." Sirius smiled at her. _"Of course_ I want to corrupt him. That's half the fun."

~~oOo~~

Harry entered the Chamber alone this time. It was an unscheduled lesson. Recently he'd been coming and going as he pleased, using the portkey Dumbledore had provided. It was convenient - sometimes an idea occurred to him and he had to try it out right away.

Sirius was waiting for him, hands clasped behind his back, feet slightly apart and grinning like a demon.

"Welcome, my young apprentice," he said, eyes alight with mad sparks. "Today begins your education."

"I thought it began a week ago," Harry pointed out.

"Drop the wisecracking," said Sirius without missing a beat. "You're not allowed to act smug until I decide that you know enough about what I'm going to teach you to not make a fool of yourself."

Harry took a deep breath. This was what he'd been waiting for. Sirius' theatrics were amusing, but he wanted to get started.

"Yes, sir," he said and offered a mock salute. "Shall we begin?"

Sirius' wand was suddenly in his hand and the torches went out all at once. Harry stood alone in a circle of light. Sirius backed out of it into the surrounding darkness. Then Harry heard his voice right next to his ear, whispering, "We started the moment you walked in."

Surprised, Harry spun around, but Sirius wasn't there.

"Are we playing a game of some sort?"

And again, he heard Sirius whisper, "Everything is a game. _Life_ is a game."

Blood chilled in his veins. _No, this must be a coincidence..._

"The kind of game without-"

"Rules or goals," Harry finished. "So you must make your own."

"Oh?" Sirius wasn't whispering anymore. This time, his voice came from the darkness, echoing in the Chamber. "You've played this game before?"

 _"Incendio!"_

Fire exploded outward from his wand. Harry let it expand in an umbrella, illuminating the darkened Chamber, looking for Sirius. What was going on? Could Dumbledore have missed something? If Voldemort was controlling Sirius...

He spotted a shadowy figure duck behind one of the columns. He directed the fire there, guiding it around the column's base, but there was nothing. An illusion?

All of a sudden, the flame was snuffed out and he was alone in the dark. The circle of light sought him out and then he was blind to his surroundings again.

Water spilled into view, as if crawling on the floor on its own. Then it bulged upwards, transforming into a wolf. It growled and readied for the leap-

He cast the Fire Charm again, burning the wolf to fine ash, which he then vanished, and conjured a shield. The next attack could come from anywhere...

He had no way to call for help. The portkey was precisely attuned to two points: Grimmauld Place and the new entrance to the Chamber. It wouldn't work here. He didn't even know which direction the exit was.

"Voldemort said the same thing to me."

He turned, scanning the impenetrable darkness and flinched, stumbling back. Sirius was standing right in front of him. He lost his balance and fell back. His wand rolled beyond the circle, out of sight.

If Dumbledore had missed something... He was utterly screwed.

"Then perhaps Lord Voldemort and I have more in common than I thought," said Sirius. He flicked his wand and Harry's flew into his empty hand. He twirled it skillfully between his fingers.

"I know what you're thinking, Harry." Sirius smiled at him, staring as if he were a piece of meat. "How could I know what Voldemort said to you? It was just you and him in your head. How could I _possibly_ know? Did I look inside your mind when you slept? Or perhaps Voldemort told me... Maybe he ordered me to break you before I bring you to him. He had me for several days. Merlin only knows what he could have done. It wouldn't by the first time Dumbledore was fooled by the Dark Lord..."

Sirius took a step forward. Harry crawled backwards, away from him. He couldn't even be sure this was Sirius anymore. _What a perfectly pathetic end._

Sirius cast another spell and Harry couldn't move, frozen in an awkward half-sitting position. Sirius closed the distance and knelt down.

"Or maybe," he said, "I know these words..."

Harry could feel his heart pounding madly in his chest.

"...because it's an old saying, popular among purebloods. Salazar Slytherin's famous last words, before Gryffindor gutted him with his goblin sword."

Harry held his breath. _What?_

The sinister smile on Sirius' face was replaced with a familiar one. In one moment, the paralysis ended, the Chamber lit up again and Sirius tossed his wand into his lap, laughing.

"I wish I'd brought a camera! You should have seen your face!"

Harry fell back on the cold floor, sweat pouring into his eyes.

"That," he said once his heart stopped galloping, "was _such_ a dick move."

"No. That was a presentation."

Harry sat up. "What are you talking about?"

"A little known spell. My own creation, in fact. You stepped inside of it when you crossed the threshold."

Harry collected himself and stood up, hands still shaking. "What kind of spell?"

"Hey, I'm not just going to tell you right away. It's a very well kept secret. I only ever showed it to Moony."

"What about-"

"James was a good man, and a better friend," Sirius said. "But he was also Dumbledore's man through and through."

"You mean he hated Dark magic?"

"If he'd hated it, he wouldn't have kept hanging out with me. Let's put it this way: you're more like your mother than Snape gives you credit for."

"What are you-"

Sirius shook his head. "Now's not the time. And frankly, you should ask Remus, he'll tell it better. We are getting back to your lesson. What I showed you was just a little trick. The spell doesn't hinder the target in any particular way, it just makes the victim susceptible to suggestions. Very much so. If you tell them there's a ghost in the room, trying to kill them, they'll see a homicidal ghost. More or less."

"Victim?" Harry repeated, wondering. It was a strangely specific word to use.

Sirius smiled darkly. "Turns out it's actually possible to die of sheer fright."

"So... the lights going out, your voice right in my ear, all of that because of one spell?"

"Not at all. _That_ was for show. A few smart charms to enhance the illusion. You see, Harry, Dark magic isn't all curses and Fiendfyre. It can be subtle... It gets ugly, and it takes a certain mindset to see where it's beautiful, the complexity beyond the curtain of guts spilling on the floor. It's very... theatrical. And it's all around you. Most people simply don't look. I'm going to teach you how."

Sirius raised his wand again. "And I'll toss in a few nasty curses along the way. You can never know too many of those. Now, watch."

~~oOo~~

It was one of the quiet evenings at Grimmauld Place Twelve. Sirius was out with Remus again - Merlin knows what they were up to, though Harry could make an educated guess. Sirius had asked about Percy. There had been no message so far. Considering what the point of contacting Percy hed been... They had to be looking for Pettigrew.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had retired to a secondary living room on the second floor. Even Fred and George were quiet. Or maybe they just surrounded their room with Silencing Charms.

Harry sat with his back against an armchair, holding his cards well out of anyone else's sight. To his right, Ron sat cross-legged in front of the roaring fire. Hermione was next to Ron, staring at her cards like they had offended her. That last hand must have been poor. To Harry's left, Ginny laid on her side, propped up on several pillows. She seemed perfectly relaxed and her cards were face down on the floor.

Hermione handed the extra card to Ron, who scowled at it and passed it down without much consideration.

Harry compared the card against his current set. It wouldn't change much - he already had a pair. On the other hand, he'd been waiting for a card to complete the Snap for three turns. If he switched now, others could try to guess his set. Then again, cards for this configuration had come up often. If he risked it and could hold out one more turn...

He switched the cards, handing one of his old ones to Ginny. She didn't even check hers, just smiled, and Harry knew he'd made a mistake.

"Snap," she said, and his cards exploded in his face with a loud 'poof' and a gust of smoke.

"Oh come _on!"_ Ron exclaimed. "You must be cheating!"

"Does your ego hurt, brother?"

"Seven times in a row! This isn't possible," Ron insisted.

"You've had longer streaks in chess, but no one's accusing you."

Ron blushed a deep red. "That's not the same. Chess is a completely different game."

Ginny sat up. "Just admit I'm better. Denial looks unflattering on you."

"I don't understand," said Hermione, frowning. "I tried to count the cards..."

"What?" Ron's eyes bugged out. "You of all people admit to cheating?"

"There's more to Exploding Snap than numbers, Hermione," said Ginny. Harry thought the comment was unnecessarily gloating. What was it between those two?

"Yes, thank you, Ginny," Hermione replied succinctly. "I've come to the same conclusion."

Ron looked at him with pleading eyes. 'Help me make sense of this', were his unspoken words. Harry chuckled. To Ron, the world might as well be ending.

"I think I'm done anyway," Ginny said. "Lying on one side isn't the most comfortable position. I need some air." She turned to him. "Want to come?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

They climbed the staircase to the very top. Buckbeak cracked open one eye when they entered, but didn't acknowledge them otherwise. Harry patted his beak and followed Ginny out onto the balcony. It hovered over the lower section of the roof, high enough to give a stunning view of London.

Whether by magic or the balcony's remoteness from the street, sounds of the city were muted, overpowered by the occasional whooshing of the wind. Harry liked coming up here, especially in the evenings. It was quiet, but not completely silent. A good place to think.

Ginny walked over to the brass telescope and turned one of the knobs. The stars were obscured by the city's lights and smog, but the telescope was charmed to show the clear sky. She pointed the lens down, at London's skyline.

"Did you know you can see Diagon Alley from here?" she asked. "Gringotts is on this side of the river."

"I didn't. Anything besides rooftops?"

"Not really." She paused. "Although... there seems to be something going on."

"What do you mean?"

"A lot of lights. Too many for this hour. And- is that smoke?"

Harry was by the telescope in an instant. "Let me see."

He put his eye to the lens and, indeed, spotted a column of smoke rising from Gringotts' domed roof. He turned one of the knobs to zoom in. Now he could see that the bank's glass dome was shattered - only the steel skeleton remained.

"It's coming from Gringotts," he said. "Goblins wouldn't set themselves on fire."

"The Ministry? Death Eaters?" Ginny asked.

"Or a riot," Harry said. "And it's not Death Eaters - Voldemort wants to lay low for a while longer. He's got nothing to gain by doing this. I don't think it's the Ministry either, unless Voldemort had his people incite it."

"There was a protest after Gringotts stopped offering some services a few weeks ago," Ginny said. "People have been having trouble getting loans and goblins have been getting pushy about debt collection."

Harry looked at her, puzzled.

She shrugged. "Bill let something slip."

"Right." He stared at the distant silhouette of the bank. "I want to know what's going on."

Before Ginny caught on to his meaning, he was already coming down the stairs.

"Harry, wait!" she called after him. "This is a bad idea!"

"I thought you were supposed to be adventurous," he retorted.

She grabbed his arm. "But I'm not _insane._ We can't just leave!"

Harry wasn't listening. He stopped briefly by his room to grab a jacket - he had his wand with him at all times.

"Whoa, what do you think you're doing?" he asked when Ginny rolled her eyes and ducked into her room.

"I'm coming with you," she said. "You'll need someone watching your back."

There was no arguing with her, because now she was all but flying down the stairs, three steps at a time. She walked into the living room before Harry could stop her.

"Gringotts is on fire. We're going to see for ourselves. Are you coming?"

Hermione and Ron stopped in the middle of an argument on the merits of card counting.

"What?" asked Ron, utterly confused.

Hermione was quicker. "Don't even think about it," she said. "If Gringotts is burning, that's the last place we should be right now!"

Harry stared with determination. "You want to sit around and do nothing, be my guest. I'm going."

"We're going," Ginny corrected.

Hermione ended their staring contest first, marched out of the room and returned briefly with her coat and Ron's jacket. Then she scribbled something on a piece of parchment they'd used for keeping the scores. "There. Let's go."

Ron was more skeptical. "Are we really-"

"Yes, _Ronald,"_ Hermione snapped at him. "Do you think you can stop this fool? Get up."

"What's on the note?" Harry asked.

Hermione glared at him in passing. "'Gringotts is on fire. We went to see what's happening'."

"How do we even leave the house though?" Ron asked. "We can't walk out through the front door. Someone's always watching the street."

Harry smiled. "We're not leaving through the front door."

"We can't go by Floo," said Ginny. "It's only connected to homes of Order members, we'll be stopped."

"Follow me." He led them to the kitchen and then outside. "Over here."

He jumped, pulled himself up and landed neatly on the other side of the fence. "There's a gap between the buildings here. We can reach the parallel street-"

"And then what?" asked Hermione, her face peeling out over the fence.

"We'll call the Knight Bus."

Stan Shunpike was rather surprised to see a group of teenagers on the Bus at this hour.

"Leaky Cauldron," Harry said, handing over the fare. "As fast as you can make it."

Stan scratched his ear. "Diagon's not a good place to be right about now. You'd better go home."

Harry stepped closer to the conductor. "I insist."

Stan blinked. "Oh, sure. You heard 'em, Ernie. Leaky Cauldron."

After a nauseating ride through the night traffic, they walked inside the crowded bar. People were shouting, ordering drinks and sharing news.

"Oi! Tom, you won't believe-"

"-damned goblins, I don't have that kind of gold!"

Harry led the group towards the Alley entrance, but they were stopped by a red-robed Auror.

"No way, you're not going through. And what are you kids doing here anyhow? Shouldn't you be at home? Wait... don't I know you?"

Harry looked up at the man and grinned. "Auror Grayson. What a coincidence."

"Harry Pot-"

He didn't finish. Harry drove a fist into his stomach as hard as he could.

"Sorry. It's nothing personal." He punched cleanly across the chin, knocking the man back, then flexed his fingers. Grayson had a painfully angular face. "Someone confound him. I already have the Ministry breathing down my neck."

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.

"But, Harry-"

 _"Confundo,"_ Ginny whispered and Grayson shook his head, looking around in confusion.

"Hello. Could you tell me-"

"Sorry, we've got to go," said Harry and they pushed past the Auror. Once the door closed behind them, the noise from the bar died down and they could speak normally.

"Don't give me that look, Hermione," Ginny said crossly.

"That's a fourth year spell," Hermione pointed out.

"I read too, you know."

Harry tapped the combination on the bricks and they stepped under the archway into Diagon Alley.

It front of them was a scene of pandemonium. Witches and wizards crowded the street, chanting angrily while Aurors tried to calm them down. Sporadic duels with the DMLE personnel broke out on the edges of the crowd. From the center, wands conjured sparks, lights and more destructive magic, turning storefronts into piles of broken wood and glass.

The centerpiece was the formerly white façade of Gringotts, now blackened from smoke and spellfire. The marble pillars were cracked or completely broken. Spell after spell from the angry mob landed on the bronze doors which rippled like water under the impacts, but held strong. A small group of Aurors on brooms did their best to shield the bank from further damage.

A stray spell flew at them, which Harry deflected on instinct.

"Non-verbal magic? When-" Hermione began, then remembered something more important. "Harry, the Trace! You just said yourself-"

"Look around," Harry interrupted her. "It doesn't matter. I could cast and Unforgivable and the Ministry wouldn't be able to tell it was me."

As he said it, more spells flew towards them. Harry's hand shot up and the spellfire dissolved upon his shield.

"Very nicely done, Mr. Potter, I'm glad the new wand is agreeing with you-"

They all turned as one, wands raised.

"-but perhaps you should step inside my shop," finished Ollivander, beckoning them inside, glancing around nervously.

"Good idea," said Hermione.

"Seconded," said Ginny.

Harry grabbed Ron's arm. "Let's get out of the street, mate."

Inside, Ollivander locked the door with a complex-looking charm. The entire storefront seemed to tense up and gave a sound like it was bracing itself against potential threats.

"Nice spell," Harry said. "Not even a broken window."

The wandmaker smiled at him. "Yes, I daresay it's rather effective. It wasn't hard to guess that something would happen tonight, so I took precautions."

"Speaking of the currents events," Hermione said, _"what is going on?"_

"A riot, as you can see," said Ollivander. "Though I suppose you desire a more detailed explanation than this."

"We've been keeping an ear to the ground," Harry said. "We knew tensions were running high, but how does tension devolve into that?" He pointed at the scene outside the window.

"For all our bluster, Mr. Potter, the staunchest wizard must admit that goblins have monopolised banking. They control the flow of gold, thus they hold significant influence over the commerce. Stop the flow of money, and most businesses grind to a halt."

"Why would they do that, though?" Ginny asked. "They benefit from those businesses _running!_ And they had to know people would protest."

"Even goblins have their limits, Ms Weasley. However, this isn't the time for a history lesson."

"Give us the short version," said Harry.

It was Hermione who answered. "We call them rebellions, implying that goblins are subservient to wizards," she said, "but the truth is that we need goblins just as they need us. And those were wars. Long and bloody."

Ollivander nodded. "Quite so. Several such conflicts took place over the ages. The last one ended shortly before the Statue of Secrecy was enacted and resulted in the Treaty of Lyon. Gringotts bank was given exclusive rights to provide banking services. Recently, goblins have felt spurned by wizards who tried to deceive them, bypassing their authority. Director Ragnok claimed it was a violation of the Treaty by British wizards and the Ministry which failed to enforce its own laws. The bank closed. Wizards and witches were cut off from their money. You can see the results outside."

"You're well informed," said Harry.

"It may seem that way, but these are simple conclusions that anyone can draw. My expertise lies elsewhere."

"And that's rather fortunate, isn't it?"

In a moment, five wands were aimed at where the unexpected voice had come from. Harry trailed the sound of footsteps coming from between the shelves until a tall, robed figure came out into the open.

Jervis Mulciber seemed more amused than anything else.

"Lower your wands," he said. "I would hate for an accident to occur."

"You're one against five," said Ron with all the false bravado he could muster. Harry glanced sideways and saw that his hand was trembling slightly. He couldn't blame him. Despite the numerical disadvantage, Mulciber seemed entirely at ease. Like a wolf among puppies.

"Five?" Mulciber repeated, looking straight at Ron. "Two of you won't be able to hit me, one will fold, one has experience, but not in fighting, and the last one has power, but not the skill to use it effectively." Then he looked at Harry with a dangerous smile. "Not yet, at least."

He turned back to Ron, face again full of malice. "So it's more like one a half against one. I've faced worse odds." He blew dust off of a handful of boxes he was holding and dropped them into a bag hanging from his shoulder. "Regardless, I didn't come here to fight."

"Just to steal," said Ollivander.

Mulciber laughed. "Yes, I suppose that's true, though you weren't supposed to find out until tomorrow. The children coming inside was an unlucky coincidence. I seek no violence tonight. There's enough of it out in the street."

"Then take your loot and leave," the wandmaker demanded.

Ginny, standing next to Harry, whispered into his ear, "We can take him."

Mulciber grinned at her. "You're a little spitfire, aren't you?"

Harry was too late to stop her.

 _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ Ginny cried out. Her initiative broke something in the air and suddenly spells were flying everywhere.

Harry lashed out wish a spell that was quickly becoming one of his favorites. _"Tonare!"_

And then Mulciber _moved._

The Death Eater was a blur as he parried or evaded their attacks and cast spell after spell of his own with grim, terrifying precision. The shop was lit up with spellfire as Mulciber skillfully neutralised them one by one. He wasn't playing - when attacked, he responded in kind.

Harry couldn't tell, but it couldn't have been more than a minute after their first failed barrage that their numbers were already halved. Ron was thrown backwards with such force that he crashed through several shelves and landed somewhere near the far wall in a mass of dust and debris. Hermione cried out in pain and ducked behind the counter, cradling a profusely bleeding arm. Ginny was next - she collapsed, her entire body convulsing.

Mulciber fought unlike anyone Harry had seen. Dumbledore was a monolith of power in a duel. He moved or spoke only when necessary, and his magic affected everything around him. Sirius and Moody were similar in their styles - they each had an impressive repertoire of spells and always pushed forward, with all the force and elegance of a freight train.

Mulciber moved with deadly grace, striking when it benefitted him the most, never wasting a spell, perfectly in control of his magic and his body. Now Harry saw how the Butcher had earned his reputation.

He and Ollivander threw up their strongest shields as the Death Eater's spell came down on them like a giant's hammer. Suddenly, Mulciber disappeared in a cloud of swirling dust.

"Behind you."

Mulciber forewent magic entirely, lashing out with lightning-quick blows. A fist slammed into Harry's side, depriving him of air. Then a palm cut across Ollivander's neck. Finally, an elbow slammed into Harry's stomach and he collapsed, gasping.

Right then, the door bulged, gave out and a pair of Aurors stormed inside, wands drawn. Mulciber was faster. His spell - Harry recognised the Banishing Charm - launched the Aurors back outside. One of them went through the display window.

"You're not without talent," Mulciber said, "but you have a lot to learn." He surveyed the shop and adjusted his bag. "I advise haste. I'm afraid I overreacted and hit your friend with a Blood-Burning Curse. She'll live if you get her help within the next five minutes."

Just before he disappeared into the surging crowd outside, Mulciber turned to look at him one more time. "Until next time, Harry."


	11. CHAPTER THREE: Opening Moves, Part 3

**CHAPTER THREE: Opening Moves**

 **Part 3**

The Order waited nervously for news. Some sat or stood in the salon and adjacent hallway, others paced or tried to find something to distract themselves with.

Those present didn't represent the full ranks of the Order - some tasks were too important to ignore - but there were enough people to make Harry feel uncomfortable when they looked at him. Some of them surely thought this was his fault... and they weren't entirely wrong. Ginny provoked Mulciber, but she had only been in Diagon Alley because of him.

He escaped to the library. There, he felt isolated enough, even with Sirius watching him 'for his own safety', as he claimed.

"Stop pacing," Sirius said for the fourth time when Harry stood up again. "It won't change anything."

"Stupid," Harry muttered.

"No argument there," Sirius agreed. "That stunt was among the stupidest things you've ever done and you walked into an acromantula colony when you were twelve. That's how stupid that was."

"...my fault..."

"What exactly?" Sirius asked, eyebrows raised.

Harry glared at him briefly, then slammed his fist into the nearest surface - in this case, the door. "They're hurt and it's my fault." He swore as the pain in his hand caught up with him.

"Show me that," said Sirius. He took Harry's wrist and tapped the broken hand with his wand. Harry yelped when the hand healed with a violent crunch.

"Don't punch the door again or I'll make you go through recovery the muggle way."

"That's all you care about?"

"Of course not. I care about lots of things. But mostly me. However, we have now arrived at the crux of the matter. Sit."

Harry ignored him.

Sirius hit him with a Stinging Hex. "Are you trying to piss _me_ off? Sit. Down."

Begrudgingly, Harry obeyed.

"Look at me," Sirius ordered.

Harry pointedly looked away.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

The next instant he felt a slap that left his cheek burning. Then Sirius grabbed his head roughly in his calloused hands.

"I'm the closest thing you have to a parent, and you're fifteen. When I tell you to look at me, _you will listen._ Understood?"

Harry tried to pry Sirius' hands off, but his godfather was older and stronger than him. Sirius released him and pushed his own chair close up to Harry's so that when he sat down and leaned forward, their faces were only inches apart.

"Your idiocy tonight was legendary, no one's arguing that. You could say that I'm being a pot to your kettle, but I'm an adult and you're not. You have a lot to learn about the world, so I can be a hypocrite if it teaches you something."

"You don't know everything," Harry said.

Sirius furrowed his eyebrows in a stern glare. "And you need to shut up, listen and think."

They sat in silence for a good minute until Harry's breathing slowed.

"Have you calmed down?" Sirius asked.

Harry nodded.

"Then tell me what your fault was in that whole affair."

"It was my idea to go to Diagon."

"Did you invite the others along?"

"No. I wanted to go alone, but-"

"Then you failed at making them listen to you, but nothing else. They followed you - their decision. You're all old and smart enough to make those. Now, who cast the first spell?"

"Ginny."

"On your order?"

"No."

"Anyone else's? Ollivander's?"

"No. It was her call, but can you blame her? We were facing a Death Eater!"

Sirius' eyes were completely dark. "Did he give you any reason to believe he was going to attack you?"

Harry leaned in even closer. "Are you seriously suggesting we should have taken a Death Eater at his word?"

"Are you claiming to know Jervis Mulciber better than I?" Sirius hissed.

"No, but-"

"Then believe me, he would've taken his stolen wands and left. No person is defined by any one thing. I know Mulciber and I know more about people than you." Sirius stood up and paced over to the fireplace, arms crossed. "I want to trust you Harry, but tonight you proved Dumbledore right. Moreover, _you proved me wrong._ The degree of stupidity is measured by one's ability. You are _not_ ready to take on someone like Mulciber and you clearly weren't ready to keep your friends safe during the riot. How can I trust you not to do something so stupid again?"

Harry sank back into the chair, seething in silence, but his anger quickly deflated. "I'm sorry," he whispered at last.

Sirius shook his head, looking down. "I don't give a shit about your apologies. I want you to think before you do something. If you want to sit at the grown up table, then _start acting like one._ I told you explicitly - and Moody told you - and Dumbledore told you - _you're not ready._ I've no doubt you could wipe the floor with any student at Hogwarts. You have power and a grasp of magic that few can match, but all that potential needs hard work to translate into actual skill."

"I'll tell you again - until you are ready, if you see Mulciber, run. He's what the Ministry claims _I_ am. He was a murderer before he left Hogwarts, slaughtered his family to earn the Dark Mark. Parents and brother. And I mean slaughtered. Mulcibers were cremated because there wasn't enough to put in coffins. Goddamnit, Moody told you he tried to nail Mulciber for years and failed. Did you think he was joking?"

"No, I-"

Sirius slammed his hand into the side of the fireplace with a dry _thwack._ "Moody doesn't fuck around. Next time he mentions a Death Eater by name, _you better fucking listen._ It's a miracle Ollivander's patronus reached Dumbledore in time. Your girlfriend was literally one minute from death and if she'd died, that _would_ have been on you."

Right then, there was a knock on the door.

"What?" Sirius snarled at it.

"Grayson's done," came Remus' voice.

Harry rushed out of the room, to get to his friends and away from Sirius.

"Where is he?" he asked, throwing the door open.

"Living room, he's talking to the others," said Remus, moving out of his way.

"We'll finish this conversation later. Don't think you're getting out of it!" Sirius called after him.

Harry didn't go in, but stood just outside, close enough to hear Grayson talking.

"...fine, though he may experience some recurring pain for a few days. Looked worse worse than it was, really."

The man talking was Graham Grayson, the only professional Healer in the Order. Harry avoided the man like the plague when he found out Auror Grayson was his son.

"What about Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Blood-Burning Curse," Grayson answered to a chorus of gasps. "Nasty business. It's fortunate that Ollivander was able to contact us so quickly. I filtered the blood and commenced the regeneration process. Her magic will be shot for a week or two, but I believe she'll make a full recovery. She's very strong."

"And Hermione?"

"The curse she was struck with is... unique, but I was able to close the wound, with Severus' help. She should have full range of movement in the arm, but I wouldn't rule out some minor inconveniences. The scar will be permanent, I'm afraid. It could have been much worse. They were all quite fortunate, considering... I gave the girls some sedatives. I offered them to Ron, but he declined."

Satisfied with what he'd heard, Harry used the distraction Grayson provided to slip past the living room and sneak upstairs unnoticed. He knocked on the door of the room he shared with Ron. As he understood, Ron's injury was the least threatening.

"Come in," came a reply.

Ron was lying down flat on his bed, with just a folded blanket to stabilise his neck. His shirt was gone and his torso was wrapped in bandages.

"How are you doing?" Harry asked, head bowed.

"Fine," Ron replied. "It doesn't even hurt that bad anymore. This Healer chap said I'll be able to walk normally tomorrow... And I should avoid sudden impacts with walls for a while," he added with a grin.

Harry chuckled at that. "No kidding. I wanted to see you before everyone else crowds in here. They're still downstairs with Grayson."

"What about Ginny and Hermione?"

The smile disappeared from Harry's face. He cleared his throat. "They'll be fine, I think. They're sleeping right now. Ginny got the worst of it."

"I didn't see much. Because, you know... I went down first," Ron said, looking intently at the ceiling.

Harry sat down on his own bed. "We all got our arses kicked, mate. It doesn't mean anything that he got your first. It could've just as easily been someone else."

"But not you, right? I saw bits and pieces. You held your own against the bastard."

"To be fair, Ron, I've been having private lessons with _Dumbledore._ And I wasn't doing that great, anyway. He took me and Ollivander down in three moves. Didn't even need his wand."

"Yeah, Dumbledore... That's something, I suppose."

Just then, Mr. Weasley opened the door. "Ron- oh, Harry, I didn't know- I can come back later if you want to talk."

"No," said Harry, standing up. "You should come in. I need to talk to Sirius anyway." He looked back at Ron. "I'll see you later."

The door to Ginny and Hermione's room was ajar. He peeked inside - Mrs. Weasley sat next to Ginny's bed, holding her hand. Harry looked at the girls' pale faces, feeling a lump forming in his throat. Their decision or not, they got hurt following him. There was no denying that fact.

Mrs. Weasley noticed him. "Harry, dear," she said quietly, "I don't know how to thank you."

Harry swallowed, but his throat still felt uncomfortably tight. "No need."

She thought she owed him thanks? Dumbledore was right. How could he be trusted with any sort of responsibility when everything he did was impulsive and reckless?

"Pick your battles. Gryffindor famously never retreated and he died crushed by overwhelming odds. Knowing when to back down is an important survival skill." Sirius had said that to him just a few days before. He ignored it, like most things that didn't teach him how to wield destructive magic.

He fled upstairs, to Buckbeak's attic room. The hippogriff was gone and the double doors of the balcony were wide open. Sirius must have let him out to stretch his wings.

That was where Sirius found him almost an hour later. He didn't say anything, just sat down next to him, back against the wall. They stayed like that for a long time, content to be silent together. Harry began to drift off, lulled by the calm and quiet.

Sirius shook him awake gently. "Go to your room and get some rest. Think about what I said. Then think some more. You have a busy day tomorrow and it's almost three in the morning."

"You said that conversation wasn't over yet."

"I think you've learned the lesson. I trust that you'll do better in the future, starting tomorrow."

"I will," Harry said. "You're right. It was... monumentally stupid."

"Of course I am." Sirius stood up in one swift motion. "And now that you've been properly chastised, we can take the next step in out nefarious plot."

"Which one?"

Sirius grinned and tossed him a folded note. "Bill gave it to me earlier tonight."

 _He's agreed to meet you. Be at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow at 11 am._

"In the middle of the day?" Harry asked. "What, are we going to talk over Butterbeer?"

"It's probably his lunch break. No one will question him missing from the Ministry for an hour."

"But Three Broomsticks? It's the busiest place in Hogsmeade."

"Hide in plain sight and all that rot," Sirius said nonchalantly. "Fortune favours the bold!"

"Didn't you just tell me to be more careful?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Potter. You know perfectly well what I meant. And we won't get a better chance at this. We're going."

Harry sprang to his feet. "What do you mean 'we'? You've got a bounty on your head!"

"Harry." Sirius put his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I'm coming with you. You don't know Crouch like I do. Remember, he's the guy who convinced the Wizengamot to authorise Aurors to use Unforgivables in the last war."

And then Harry remembered watching Crouch Sr send his own son to Azkaban. "Alright… I see your point. Are we bringing anyone else? We could use backup."

Sirius nodded. "Remus will be watching me watch your arse."

Harry shook his head. "A werewolf, a convict and a student walk into a bar... There's a joke there, but I don't know what it is."

Sirius grinned. "See? It'll be fun as well as productive. Now get lost."

Harry left the room somewhat assured, but there was lingering doubt.

 _Then again,_ he thought, _where's the fun without a little risk?_

~~oOo~~

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," Harry muttered as he walked alongside Sirius down Hogsmeade's High Street.

He turned some heads, naturally. Although it had been weeks since his very public trial, rumours were still flying about his "supposed" encounter with dementors. The Prophet was kept quiet (by Fudge, most likely), so none of the embarrassing details had been revealed. They did report Dudley's ultimate fate, however. Harry glanced at the faces of the people around, wondering how many of them were convinced he'd killed his cousin.

And how long it would take before someone recognised Sirius. He had refused to wear the Cloak, despite Harry's insistence.

"You're insane," Harry whispered.

Sirius was looking positively giddy.

"Right. Forget I said anything."

"It's going to be fine," Sirius said. "No one will look at your companion and think 'hey, is that Sirius Black?' At best, they'll think 'that guy reminds me of someone'."

"All it takes is _one_ person recognising you," Harry argued. "You should have taken the damn Cloak."

"Nonsense," Sirius replied with a dismissive wave. "Where's the fun in that?"

They manoeuvred through the town's lively crowd. People stood at corners, discussing last night's events in hushed tones. The Prophet, as much as it was under the Ministry's thumb, had printed an eye-catching headline on the front page this morning.

RIOT IN DIAGON ALLEY  
GRINGOTTS ATTACKED - GOBLINS RETALIATE

It was nothing Harry hadn't come to expect from what was increasingly becoming a propaganda tool, complete with eyewitness accounts of terrified citizens. The only bright spot was Rita Skeeter's continued absence. Hermione's blackmail was still working, it seemed.

Sirius strolled along at a leisurely pace, breathing in the fresh summer air as his expensive robes fluttered around his ankles. Harry had to admit that neatly groomed and no longer skeletally thin, he looked nothing like the man staring from pictures regularly included in the Prophet. Still, Harry couldn't help but worry. Sirius, on the other hand, didn't seem to have a care in the world.

"Where's Remus, by the way?" Harry asked.

"Following us, of course."

Harry looked over his shoulder as discreetly as he could manage. "I don't see him."

"Well, that's the point. What good is backup if anyone can spot it?"

"Is _he_ wearing my Cloak?"

"No, he's just being sneaky," Sirius said. "Don't forget, we were Aurors for a while before everything went south. We had to pass Stealth and Tracking."

They reached the Three Broomsticks. Sirius pushed the door open and went inside first, heading straight for the bar.

"Sirius," Harry hissed at him, but his voice was lost among all the others, talking, yelling and gossiping. It wasn't the kind of crowd one would see on Hogsmeade weekends, or even just later in the day, but the place was still packed.

"Hello, Madam," Sirius greeted Rosmerta jovially. "Might I have two Butterbeers for myself and my companion?"

"Harry Potter, as I live and breathe," said Rosmerta, noticing him.

"Could you keep it down?" Harry asked. "I'm here incognito."

Rosmerta winked at him. "Oh sure, though I think you may be too recognisable for that. And who is this?" She turned to Sirius and almost immediately, her eyes widened in surprise.

Harry froze. _What now?_

Before he settled on a course of action, Rosmerta relaxed and her smile returned. "Two Butterbeers, coming right up."

"Make that three. He's paying."

Harry turned right to find Remus there, leaning casually against the bar.

"Believe it or not," said Sirius, "we know what we're doing."

Their drinks arrived in chilled bottles. Harry noticed a small piece of paper under his own but before he could examine it Sirius deftly switched their bottles, glanced at the note and pocketed it. Then he took a swig of his drink, seemingly ignoring everything around him.

He and Remus chatted pleasantly, discussing the latest news and rumours of the werewolf rebellion, like many other patrons were doing. Once all three of them emptied their bottles, Sirius placed a galleon on the bar and leaned over. "Follow me."

Harry did his best to not attract attention as the three of them moved through the crowd towards the back of the bar, where a precariously steep staircase led to he upper floors. On the second floor, Sirius led the group to one of the private rooms.

There was no one inside. In fact, the room was empty save for a table and some chairs. The furniture still shone after a recent cleaning.

"How did you know we'd get a note if we ordered Butterbeer? And what did you do to Rosmerta?"

"Old Auror tricks," Sirius said, looking around the room. He bent over the table until his nose almost touched it and looked left, the right, sniffing all the while. Harry wondered if this was some bizarre investigation method. "Crouch used to be one. Things were very cloak and dagger when he ran the Department. Looks like the old dog hasn't forgotten the craft. And Remus nailed Rosie with a Confundus Charm."

"I didn't even see him until he said something. You're good at this," Harry said appreciatively.

"Yes, we are," Sirius agreed, reaching for his wand. He conjured a gust of odorless smoke, spreading it inside the room. As it swept over the windowsill, it left a rectangular gap, but there was nothing there that Harry could see.

"Oho," Sirius muttered. He jabbed with his wand and magic broke, revealing a wooden box. "Remus, you're better at this kind of thing."

The werewolf stepped closer to the box, waving his wand over it, then drew a complex pattern in the air. Finally, he tapped the lid and cast what Harry thought was an ordinary Unlocking Charm. There was a click and the box slowly opened.

"Harry, come here. It's addressed to you."

Inside the box lay an envelope with his name on it.

"Is it safe?" he asked.

Remus nodded. Harry opened the letter.

 _Mr. Potter,_

I apologise for the deception. If you were able to get this far, by yourself or with help from allies, it demonstrates to me that perhaps it would indeed be beneficial if we sat down to talk.

The portkey found with this letter will take you to the place where we first met. Upon arrival, head to the top box. I shall wait for one hour.

Bartemius Crouch

"What does it say?" Sirius asked.

Harry read the directions again. "He wants to meet at the stadium where the Quidditch Cup was played last summer."

"Not a bad spot. He will have chosen a time when no one else will be there. The maintenance probably comes over once a month at best."

"He said he left a portkey... the box?" Harry guessed, brushing his palm against it.

"Correct," Remus said. "Ready to go?"

The box deposited them at the edge of the forest, where the path leading to the stadium began, then crumbled to dust in Harry's hands.

Sirius nudged him in the side. "Smile for the camera."

Harry cast a surreptitious glance at the tree line. "You think he's watching us?"

Sirius waved cheerfully towards the silent, looming forest. "I _know_ he's watching us, probably with someone else's eyes. He was at Hogwarts with Moody. Between them, they invented half of the stuff that's taught to rookies these days. He was that good."

"Was? You think he's lost his edge?" Remus asked.

"He's not like Moody. I've no doubt he can still kick arse, but he's management now. Probably out of shape."

"Experience counts for something too, you know," Remus said.

"I prefer a more hands-on approach."

"Well, he did put you in Azkaban."

"So," Harry said, interrupting the banter, "what now? Do we just follow the path?"

Sirius nodded. "I guarantee you he's watching us and he probably recognised me. We're not under fire, so I'm going to assume that things are going according to plan."

"You know what they say about assuming," said Remus.

"Yes, yes. It makes an arse out of you and me, but let's just see what happens."

Remus sighed. "That's not I would phrase it..."

"We can argue about proverbs later."

"What if we're attacked?" Harry asked. How could they be so... casual about this?

"We fight back," said Sirius plainly. "Just because we can't see them doesn't mean we're defenceless."

They followed the path into the forest, Harry walking in the middle. After a while trees gave way to the monolithic wall of the stadium.

Recalling last year, Harry led the group towards the VIP area. They climbed the stairs, Remus in front of him and Sirius following, wands out. Harry couldn't help looking at every nook that seemed like someone might be hiding there. They reached the top box without trouble. It was different than Harry remembered.

Instead of rows of seats facing the pitch, the space was occupied by a large table and some chairs. Two wizards in business robes sat directly across from the door. The biggest surprise however was Percy seated off to the side.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black," said Bartemius Crouch. "Won't you sit down?"

~~oOo~~

Percy woke up this morning looking forward to a normal, boring day at work - just him and a stack of paperwork. No secret notes or suspicious security briefings. He liked his daily routine.

How wrong he was.

The day had started well enough. He hastily ate breakfast (whatever he could put together in five minutes), dressed and apparated to the employees' entrance. Like he did every time, he grimaced at the toilet before stepping in and flushing himself down. He understood the need for secrecy, but why a toilet of all things?

He checked in with security on his way to the Minister's Wing and sat down behind his desk at precisely seven-thirty. Official work hours didn't start until eight, but he knew that no one who only did the required minimum got anywhere in the Ministry. Unless, of course, their parents had _connections,_ but his father didn't mingle with the elites.

By the time the Minister showed up - twenty minutes late - Percy had the day's schedule ready.

Then Crouch walked in.

"Cornelius, a moment, please."

The Minister obliged him. "Barty, good morning. Any news from the French?"

"Not yet, but there's something else."

"Let's go inside. Would you like some tea?"

"No time. Take a look at this." He handed Fudge a folder. "Study it before the next Cabinet meeting. It's important."

"Of course, of course. Are you sure you can't stay for a cup of tea? There are some things I'd like to-"

"Busy, I'm afraid," Crouch interrupted. "Call my office and we'll set something up tomorrow."

"If you're sure..."

Crouch waited until Fudge closed the door behind him before pouncing.

"Mr. Weasley. Are you enjoying working for the Minister?"

Percy cleared his throat. "It's a different environment than your Department. Very exciting."

Crouch's lip twitched, as if he were holding back a smirk. "I can imagine. A shame, really. You did quite well with me, as I recall."

That was when Percy became convinced he'd become a prop in a power play. It was an open secret that Crouch had been sour for a long time about his ruined chances for the top job in Wizarding Britain after the fiasco involving his son. The Triwizard Tournament reminded everyone who had forgotten about the whole thing. Crouch couldn't be happy about that.

His son had _died_ and all he seemed to care about was rebuilding his reputation - again. Percy admired the man - he was a true titan in the Ministry - but after last year, he wanted to be as far as possible from Barty Crouch and his shadow.

"I've learned a lot from you, sir," Percy said, choosing a diplomatic answer. "The experience I gained-"

"No doubt," said Crouch. "I think we should catch up. Talk about... opportunities. When is your lunch break?"

"Um, I usually-"

"Splendid. Meet me in the Atrium at ten. I have a nice place in mind."

What was he supposed to say?

"Of course, sir. Ten sharp. I'll be there."

He couldn't simply refuse one of the most influential people in the Ministry. It was a testament to Crouch's endurance, that after being brought to his knees twice he still picked himself back up.

Resigned, Percy cleared his impromptu outing with Fudge and at five-to-ten he left the office. Crouch didn't even try to pretend this was about some fictional lunch.

"Follow me, Mr. Weasley."

They left the Atrium behind, disappearing into the bowels of the Ministry. In a small room, five men were waiting for them. Percy recognised the Chief Unspeakable and Marcus Plateau, Director of Magical Finance. How were _they_ involved in this? And what was 'this', anyway?

"Weasley. Fudge's assistant. What's he doing here, Barty?" Plateau asked.

"He'll be our witness. He's already involved."

Croaker gave Crouch an ornate medallion about the size of a galleon. "It will remain active for two hours."

"Thank you."

With that, Croaker left the room.

Percy could have sworn that apparition and portkeys didn't work inside the Ministry. Unless you were an Unspeakable, apparently. Crouch held the medallion out on his palm. The three hooded Unspeakables and Plateau touched it with their index fingers.

"Weasley!" Crouch snapped.

He reluctantly placed his finger next to the others, dreading what would come next.

The travel itself was fine. This particular portkey was far better balanced than any he'd used before. Their destination, however, was the last place he expected to see when they landed. They were standing in the VIP box of the National Stadium.

"Is everything ready in Hogsmeade?" Crouch asked.

"Checked it twice. All good," said one of the Unspeakables.

"Very well. Take your positions, gentlemen."

Two of the hooded men disapparated. The last one moved to a far corner and disillusioned himself.

"Take a seat, Weasley. We could be waiting for a while."

 _Waiting for what? Or whom?_

The three of them sat at the large table and waited. No one said anything and minutes passed in silence, broken only by the sound of Crouch's pocket watch whenever he checked the time. After almost half an hour, by Percy's estimation, one of the Unspeakables returned.

"Three targets approaching the forest path."

"Three?" Plateau repeated, bolting from his seat. "We're supposed to just meet Potter! Are they looking for trouble?"

"Calm down, Marcus," said Crouch. "I wouldn't expect Harry Potter to move without security these days. Potter himself is expecting only me. With guards, perhaps, but certainly not you or Weasley." He turned to the Unspeakable. "Were you able to identify Potter's companions?"

"Yes. Our lookout in Hogsmeade spotted one right away. It's Sirius Black."

Crouch's hand clamped down on his colleague's shoulder. "You're awfully jumpy today, Marcus."

"This isn't my environment, Barty," Plateau hissed. "Sirius Black? What in hell is Potter thinking? Was Fudge right all along?"

"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough." Crouch turned to the Unspeakable again. "What about the other one?"

"Remus Lupin. We didn't see him until he revealed himself in the Three Broomsticks. They're not attempting to hide anymore."

Percy saw colour drain from Plateau's face and barely held back a laugh. From the man's perspective, he was about to meet a mass-murdered and Greyback's best friend.

"Black and Lupin?" Crouch asked. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Tail them until they get here. When they walk in, I want all of you on standby."

"Will do," said the Unspeakable and disapparated again.

Plateau had begun to sweat. He swiveled in his chair and stared at Crouch. "An escaped convict and a werewolf... What are you playing at, Barty? It seemed like you know them. I mean, not just from the newspaper."

"They worked for me in the Auror Office."

Percy filed that bit of information away. Oddly enough, it was easier to believe that Black had been an Auror. Professor Lupin just didn't seem the type. He liked this less and less by the second.

When they walked inside, Percy didn't know what to make of that particular trio.

Harry was in the middle, dressed more like a muggle than a wizard. Professor Lupin, in well-worn robes, was on his right. He looked better than Percy remembered him. Less tired.

On Harry's left, Sirius Black was the exact opposite of Percy's image of a hardened criminal. The immaculate robes clashed horribly with the memory of wanted posters depicting an unkempt, withered prisoner.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black. Won't you sit down?"

They stepped forward, moving in an almost synchronised manner.

"Who will I be speaking to?" Crouch asked politely.

"Me," Harry said. "Good morning, Mr. Crouch. Hey, Percy." Then he looked at Plateau. "I don't know you, though."

"Allow me to introduce my colleague, Director Marcus Plateau from the Department of Magical Finance."

Percy observed the tense exchange in silent awe. High-ranking Ministry officials and a group of what many would consider Britain's Most Wanted.

"Marcus requested to join me today. He's grown disillusioned with Minister Fudge's approach to some matters."

"What made you change your mind? You must have been conflicted about this meeting, given how long it took you to respond," said Harry.

"I assume you're aware what happened in Diagon Alley yesterday?" Crouch asked.

Harry flinched. "I was there. Got into a bit of a scuffle with a Death Eater."

Crouch looked surprised for a moment. He couldn't have been expecting _that._ Percy certainly hadn't.

Crouch, ever the manipulator, swiftly steered the conversation back on topic. "Before either side divulges any information, I think we should establish what we're expecting."

"Cooperation," Harry said. "Sooner or later, Voldemort will move openly. By then it'll be too late to react."

"You want to prepare. Not unreasonable, but how do you think it should be done? By usurping the Ministry from Fudge?"

It was Black who answered. "If that's what it takes. Unless Voldemort does it first."

"And what are you prepared to offer in exchange for cooperation?" Crouch asked.

Harry smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile. "Who do you think is going to come out looking good in the end? Certainly not Fudge. There's also the added benefit of _not letting Voldemort win."_

"And you have proof that he's indeed back from the dead."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I thought we agreed on that front. Your son was directly involved."

Crouch ignored the obvious low blow. "Whether or not we agree matters little at the moment. I am just one man. We can't stage a coup without a shred of evidence."

"But you do believe me?"

Crouch glared at Harry. "I don't need to _believe,_ Potter. I saw it with my own eyes."

Harry wasn't deterred. "Then why wouldn't you even talk to Dumbledore?"

"Because he's a politician," said Black. "He will toe the line until the winds shifts, no matter what he knows."

Harry's expression hardened to match his tone. "Then perhaps we're just wasting our time here."

What followed was the most tense ten-second pause Percy had ever witnessed.

"We started off on the wrong foot. Why don't we begin with something less aggravating than the Dark Lord. The elephant in the room," Crouch said, looking at Black.

"I'll tell you what Fudge didn't want to hear," Harry said. "Peter Pettigrew is alive."

Percy listened in morbid fascination as Harry told of Pettigrew's deception and his third year, sometimes in disturbing detail. Like how Scabbers, Percy's pet rat of many years, had been Peter Pettigrew all along. Percy wiped his sweaty palms on his robes, vowing to scrub himself extra clean tonight.

Things only got more _interesting_ from there. Harry recounted the night of You-Know-Who's resurrection in such avid detail that Percy couldn't imagine how anyone who heard that tale could _not_ believe it. It took almost an hour before Crouch and Plateau exhausted their questions. This 'lunch break' was stretching uncomfortably long.

"That's all of it," Harry said at last. "Voldemort is moving as we speak. He will hit Azkaban at some point to retrieve his Death Eaters. He can't afford to leave them to rot when he's so short on manpower, even though he's no doubt recruiting again. As long as Fudge pins everything on Sirius, Voldemort can do whatever he wants."

"Then the first step is putting Mr. Black on trial and spreading the word," Crouch said. "It won't be easy in the current political climate. I'm afraid that without the key witness we won't be able to do it."

"Leave Peter to Remus and I," said Black.

"As you wish. In any case, unless a significant change in direction occurs, I can't offer any assistance from the Ministry anyway. Official or not."

"What do you think of Scrimgeour?" Harry asked.

"He's no friend of the Minister," said Crouch. "Were you thinking of approaching him?"

"He seemed sympathetically inclined."

"I'll make some inquires, but I dare not approach him directly. My position at the Ministry isn't as strong as I'd like. But I suppose I could... encourage him to reach out to you."

"That'd be great, _Barty._ And one more thing," said Black. "Have you heard anything about Malfoy in relation to the Black family inheritance?"

"I have," said Plateau. "Lucius Malfoy has been pushing for acquisition on behalf of his son, but... well, the legal situation was complicated even before this meeting. I can't simply throw Malfoy's petition out, not until Mr. Black's legal status changes."

"Goblins don't care," Black interjected. "I've been withdrawing money almost since the escape. Stall Malfoy. Once we get Peter, we'll clean up this mess."

"You could file a counter-claim, Mr. Potter," Plateau added. "The irregularities in your godfather's case allow for it. It will shake Malfoy, but not much. Your claim is flimsy at best until status quo changes and with Malfoy influencing the Minister, facilitating any change will be difficult."

"Will it slow Malfoy down, at least?"

Plateau nodded. "Any obstacle will."

"Then I'll do it. Contact me about the details. Perce, would you..."

Percy sat up straight. "Sure. Anything I can do to help."

 _Merlin, I'm in deep. Just don't let me sink with them._

"Then I think that'll be enough for one day," said Crouch. "We all have a bit of thinking to do."

The five men - or four men and a boy? Percy didn't know how to think of Harry - stood up and shook hands. Then Harry, Lupin and Black left the same way they had come.

"I expect you to keep your mouth shut, Mr. Weasley," Crouch said once they were gone.

"Of course, sir."

"Barty... are we really doing this?"

"I should have done this months ago."

"Algernon will want to know," said Plateau. "And what about Scrimgeour?"

"You heard Potter. He was sympathetic. Wouldn't hurt to find out how far that sympathy goes."

"And Fudge?"

Crouch's next words sent a chill down Percy's spine.

"Some sacrifices... are inevitable."

~~oOo~~

"Observe, Harry."

Dumbledore laid an unremarkable smooth stone on the floor of the Chamber.

"I don't see anything special about it, sir. It's not magical."

Dumbledore smiled. "That's material for Transfiguration. I would hate to damage this ancient place."

Harry looked down. "Right. My mistake."

The Headmaster flicked his wand and the stone popped like corn, sprouting into a three foot high cube, perfectly smooth, with sharp edges. It was a simple transformation - he'd mastered more complex spells - but the speed and ease with which Dumbledore performed it were beyond his ability.

"Imagine that an opponent skilled in Transfiguration used this for protection. Why go to such lengths when a Shield Charm can be mastered with considerably less effort?"

"There are ways to circumvent it. A physical protection is superior against some attacks," Harry replied. "Like... the Killing Curse."

Dumbledore nodded. "Just so. Attack it, Harry."

Magic was coming easier to him. He aimed at the target. _"Tonare."_

The Bludgeoning Hex shattered the cube into hundreds of smaller fragments.

"You've been practicing," said Dumbledore. "Tell me, how come that even though your wand movement was rather poorly executed, the spell worked correctly?"

Harry struggled to find the right words. "I guess... it's all about practice?"

"Are you answering or asking?"

"Not sure," he mumbled.

"Give me an example of a spell which textbooks describe with a precise wand movement."

"The Levitation Charm."

Dumbledore nodded, humming. "Good choice. Please demonstrate."

Harry jabbed his wand in the general direction of the cube's remains.

Nothing.

Non-verbal casting wasn't as intuitive as he'd hoped.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa."_ Several fragments rose into the air.

"Yet again, your wand movement was mostly absent and I can see that you have no trouble with the spell."

Harry guided the fragments with his wand in an aerial dance. He arranged them into a line and pretended to tie a knot on it.

"I think precise instructions are necessary when you learn about something new," he said. "Then you just sort of... internalise it. If you know something well enough, it takes less effort, less concentration. You look back on things you studied years ago and they seem laughable now, when seen from the perspective of the time that has passed since. Sometimes when I see Hermione in Potions class, she barely looks at the instructions. It looks like she's just chucking random ingredients in, but she knows what she's doing."

"Say, like you can keep up your levitation and talk to me at the same time," said Dumbledore.

Harry blinked. "I never thought about it like that-"

His focus shifted away from the spell and the stone fragments fell as the levitation failed. He glared at them.

"Everything takes practice, Harry."

"Yes, I see your point, Professor."

Another flick of Dumbledore's wand and the cube reassembled itself, but it didn't stop there. In one continuous process, the Transfiguration was reversed and the small stone flew back into Dumbledore's hand.

"Did you notice what I did?"

Harry tilted his head, looking at the stone. "I would have had to use three separate spells to do the same. Reparo, Untransfiguration, Accio."

Dumbledore put the stone in his pocket. "I would like to see your Shield Charm. I've been told it's excellent."

This was one of the spells that Harry knew so intimately that magic eagerly shaped itself almost on its own under his direction. Then, without warning, Dumbledore cast a spell. The shield swallowed it without even flinching.

"Now attach the shield to your left hand," Dumbledore instructed.

The next spell was aimed at that hand, where it also met his shield. Harry manipulated the spell, shaping the magic at will.

"That's enough. Quite well done, Harry."

"I still don't understand, Professor. I know I can do it, but how is that possible? I don't even remember when exactly I started doing it. It must have happened during the Tournament."

"Magic... is a puzzle," said Dumbledore. "Probably the greatest, most fascinating and frustrating puzzle there is, because there are no easy solutions. The best advice can add up to nothing, because each of us approaches magic as a whole from a slightly different perspective. You must broaden yours - and narrow it."

"That... makes no sense," said Harry.

"It's very possible," Dumbledore agreed. "After all, our perspectives undoubtedly differ. Who knows what you're actually learning from me. Certainly not everything I intend to teach you. Perhaps nothing at all and we're wasting our time. But perhaps, in your own unique way of looking at things, you'll learn from me how _not_ to do something. What works for me very likely isn't universal. It's why writing textbooks on magic is so difficult."

"But everyone starts from the same place," Harry said. "You turn a match into a needle. You levitate a feather."

Dumbledore seemed amused. "Are you sure about that? If what you say is true, then you and your friends must have achieved the same result when you began studying magic and only then your paths diverged."

Harry recalled his first Charms class, Hermione's self-assured superiority, and his and Ron's failed attempts. "Alright. You win."

Dumbledore laughed. "So you see, Harry. Everyone is different. It is fortunate that you have more than one person instructing you. Theory, understanding of the underlying principles, is important. Then again, not necessarily. Could you describe for me the Five Fluctuation Points of the Shield Charm?"

"Er, no. Hermione probably could, though."

"Yes, I imagine so. Ms. Granger finds security in structure and order. She tends to obey the rules and follow precise guidelines. That suggests that she would adhere to rigid standards laid out in textbooks. Would you say she is uncreative with her spells?"

Harry scoffed. "No one who knows her would say that."

"I've no doubt that with sufficient practice, she will master the Shield Charm just as you did," Dumbledore said, sneaking a candy out of a pocket and popping i tinto his mouth. "I would also bet a chocolate frog that she has read Gilbert Price's impressive study of the Shield Charm. I take it you haven't."

Harry did a double take. "There's an entire book just about the Shield Charm?"

Dumbledore looked around, puzzled, then wiped his fingers on the robe without much concern. "There are entire books about many spells and techniques. A lot of them are available in the Hogwarts library, but they're not required reading precisely because a teacher's role isn't to rigidly guide a student through one safe path in the labyrinth. Our job is to provide students with sufficient tools, so that they may follow one of many possible paths to understanding."

Harry stared at the wand in his hand. It was another of those Dumbledorean lectures that left him grasping at the frayed edges of _something,_ trying to decipher it. On some level Dumbledore was making a lot of sense. He just couldn't figure out where he'd have the best view.

He stood on a precipice and couldn't move forward. Flying was bloody well impossible... but at least he wasn't falling.

"Professor, I think I prefer when you just teach me spells."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with bright lights. "And I enjoy teaching you. Forgive an old man, Harry. I rarely have opportunities to indulge in philosophising about magic these days."

"Eh, it's fine. Give me a decade and I may just get it."

Dumbledore checked the time on his peculiar watch. "O-ho. Our time for today is up, I'm afraid."

"Another staff meeting?"

Dumbledore sighed. "As much as I love Hogwarts, running a school can get boring if there are no petrifications, break-ins or other disasters."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, unsure of what he just heard.

"...that was a joke."

Harry blinked. "Oh, right. Sure. Good one, Professor."

"It seems I've lost my touch. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow."

Alone in the Chamber, he thought back to the meeting with Crouch and the afternoon of realisations that followed. Hermione and Ginny had woken up, healed for all practical purposes, though still shaken. Ginny blamed herself, which Ron and Hermione were quick to dispute. Harry kept silent, keeping in mind his conversation with Sirius.

He recalled meeting Mulciber in Godric's Hollow. Harry hadn't told anyone about that encounter and wasn't planning to. The way Mulciber had spoken, it was obvious there was a hidden agenda at work. Whether it was another one of Voldemort's deceptions or Mulciber's own scheme, he couldn't tell.

His thoughts went full circle and back to Dumbledore.

 _Broaden my perspective... and narrow it._

"That's bloody helpful," he muttered. He took his wristwatch off and weighed it in his hand. "Perspective, huh?"

He threw the watch into the air. It climbed in a steep arc, gaining the highpoint just below the line of torches hanging on the columns and started to fall. Harry flicked his wand just before it hit the floor. _"Wingardium Leviosa."_

Caught by the Levitation Charm, the watch stopped its fall abruptly. Harry jerked the wand sharply and the watch flew towards him. He dangled it in front of his face, then drew back his hand and threw it forward like he would a fishing rod. The watch obeyed and shot forward, this time along a flatter trajectory.

He levitated it back towards himself again, controlling the spell with not so much his wand anymore as only thought. The watch returned without fail, as if he had used a different spell entirely.

"But I'm not Summoning it," he said to himself. "The Summoning Charm is based on different principles..."

He remembered that frantic afternoon before the First Task. Hermione had said enough about the arithmantic foundations of Levitation and Summoning that some of it had stuck. What was it Dumbledore had said? _...many possible paths to understanding._

"Understanding what?"

He put the watch back on. Maybe he should take a look at some arithmantic equations after all. Hermione would surely agree to help him...

"All hail Lord Snaketongue!" someone yelled jovially.

Harry turned on his heel. Sirius was marching towards him briskly, followed by Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

"I remember this," Ginny said, her voice echoing softly.

"Fascinating," Hermione whispered.

Ron settled for a simple 'wow'.

"Yes, it's something," Harry said. "Dumbledore and I just got done charting out all the tunnels two days ago. Well, all those we could find. You're getting a tour in a moment, but first..."

He cast out his voice, amplified by the Chamber's magic. The hiss was carried through the tunnels, reaching every shadowy nook. The basilisk hissed a response and soon emerged from behind him, rising from the pond at the Slytherin's feet.

Sirius clapped. "Very dramatic. Well done. Full marks."

Harry grinned. "Don't panic, guys. He won't bite."

None of them moved for a long moment, until Ginny came closer. Harry took her hand and placed it on the basilisk's snout as it lowered its head.

 _"Hello, Master. Are these your nestmates?"_

He wasn't sure he could adequately explain the concept of friendship to the snake, so he just settled for saying, _"Yes. As the others, they are not to be harmed."_

Ginny touched the scales, then immediately back off, bumping into him.

"Sorry," she said. "Some less than pleasant memories."

"No worries. I control this one, not Tom Riddle," he whispered to her.

"Harry, mate," said Ron, "I can't help but wonder-"

"I guarantee he's harmless," said Harry. "Well, unless I say otherwise. And if you meet him in the tunnels, you should give way... he takes up quite a bit of space."

"So... it hasn't tried to eat you?" Ron asked.

"Nope."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup."

"Okay..."

Ron moved closer as well. The basilisk was observing him rather amused, as far as Harry could tell. He had given up years ago trying to understand how magical animals developed sentience advanced enough that they possessed personalities. He had never been able to figure it out with Hedwig and he doubted a snake would cause an epiphany. He sent the basilisk on its way and it slipped back into the pond.

"Where'd it go?" asked Ron.

"There's a nest below this floor. Spells keep the water out. The cave is almost as big as the Chamber."

It was Ginny who answered. Harry looked at her curiously.

"I don't remember a lot, but there are... flashes," she admitted.

"Come on, then. Let's refresh your memory."

The group followed him - Sirius as well, though Harry suspected he wanted to see the others' reactions for a laugh. He led them into one of he wider tunnels, but it still could fit no more than two people across comfortably. Dumbledore had smoothed the floor to make walking easier and placed some torches, but nothing more. He wanted to preserve as much of the Chamber's original design as possible. Many of the smaller tunnels hadn't been altered at all. Those were left to the basilisk.

"Ginny... when you mentioned a nest... Did you mean to imply that there are eggs down there?" asked Hermione.

"That's one of the things I don't remember," she said, looking at Harry.

"There are dozens," he said. "Enough to raise an army of basilisks, but we can't do that."

"Not that I'm disappointed, but why not?"

"Slytherin didn't magic this up in an afternoon, you know. Dumbledore estimates it took him years. Basilisk breeding wasn't banned then, but just as difficult. He created a good-sized supply of eggs. Then he put them all in the nest and began layering the spells. Dumbledore said the complexity of the charmwork in this place matches what he saw in the part of the Department of Mysteries only available to Unspeakables."

"If only Unspeakables can go there, then how did he get in?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "By being Albus Dumbledore, I suppose."

"I don't understand something," Hermione said. "I thought that- V-Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin. Isn't the basilisk only supposed to obey that one person?"

Harry grinned. "Turns out that everyone who called me the Heir back in our second year had the gist of it right."

"I love this part," said Sirius in a stage whisper.

"Slytherin's descendants married the Peverells. There were three Peverell brothers. The oldest died childless. The second led to Voldemort. The third led to me. The Chamber's basilisk isn't just a weapon. It's a test. Any Heir who seeks to continue Slytherin's eugenics program must first slay the basilisk they find down here to prove themselves worthy. Only then the magic responds, releases and egg from hibernation and the new incumbent Heir gets their own basilisk."

Hermione frowned. "Are you saying Voldemort was the first since Slytherin, or that there have been others before him?"

"He was only the last," Harry said. "Each time, the Heir terrorised the school with the threat of a monster. So far, only Voldemort has acted on that threat. And even he failed to drive out the unworthy."

"How can you be the Heir though?" Ron asked. "If Voldemort is from the senior line... Magical inheritance doesn't work that way."

"But Voldemort left something of himself in me when he tried to kill me the first time," Harry said, touching his scar. "Dumbledore thinks that's how I was able to fool Slytherin's magic into accepting me."

"Pretty cool, isn't it?" Sirius asked with a grin.

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione.

"It's just around the corner."

There, the tunnel curved to the left and continued on, coming back to the Chamber and meeting several other passages. The left wall curved along with the path. The right wall was missing.

Instead, the tunnel opened into a cavern, the biggest Harry had ever seen. It looked like it could swallow a cathedral and have space left for a few smaller buildings. It was lit by the soft glow emanating from thousands of tiny crystals embedded in the ceiling. It almost looked like a night sky.

A narrow rocky peninsula extending a hundred feet was all the floor space available. The rest was an underground lake. At the far end, a small waterfall cascaded down from, as Dumbledore had determined, the Black Lake. Next to it, another waterfall flowed _up,_ back to the Lake. The rumble of foaming water carried easily over the surface. Neither waterfall was making any waves. The surface was smooth as glass.

"Want to see something cool?" Harry asked as they followed him onto the peninsula. Without waiting for an answer, he let out a long hiss. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the lake was disturbed, as if the water had begun boiling. Then the lake started _moving._

Snakes of all sizes, some as small as pencils, others exceeding twenty feet, came forth from the black water, coiling and piling up around the group. Shortly, they were surrounded by a three foot high living wall.

 _"Enough,"_ Harry hissed and the snakes stopped coming. He and Sirius were grinning, congratulating each other on a prank well-played. Ron froze, eyes wide, not daring to move and step on one of the reptiles.

"Awesome," he said, swallowing loudly. "Can you send them away now?"

Harry gave another command in Parseltongue and soon the snakes were out of sight and the water perfectly still, as if it had never been disturbed.

"Chin up, mate," Harry said. "Just imagine bringing Malfoy down here and dropping him in the water. He'd piss himself. Or worse."

Ron livened up at the suggestion. "Why stop at imagining? That slimy bastard could use a bath."

Harry sighed. "I promised Dumbledore I wouldn't do that."

"Snape?"

"Ron!" Hermione punched him in the arm.

Ron shrugged. "Well, there's always Crabbe and Goyle."

~~oOo~~

He dressed with meticulous care tonight. The occasion called for it. He listened to his father's advice with half an ear - of course it was important, and he committed it to memory, but he couldn't help but get distracted. His mind kept leaping forward to what was coming.

Preparations had been made. Father had spent a lot of gold to make sure there would be no disturbances. He wasn't going alone. Nott would be there as well, but he wasn't important. The test had been designed and targets chosen for him. He couldn't say it out loud, of course. The Dark Lord didn't tolerate gloating without merit and he had no deeds to his name yet. That bastard, Mulciber, gloated all the time. He didn't boast openly, but the little taunts directed at Father drove Draco insane.

Tonight, he would prove himself. Like Father had. Like Professor Snape. Like bloody Mulciber. He would not be bested by Saint Potter.

He relished in the weight of robes settling down on his shoulders. The cloak billowed around his ankles when he stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cool wind wash over him. He took a minute to calm his thoughts. It would not do to bounce like an excited child in front of the Dark Lord. He suffered no fools. Draco had already learned that lesson. He shuddered at the memory, the wind suddenly chilling him to the bone despite the cloak.

With his wand resting in a holster at his belt, he left and locked his room, walking briskly through the empty hallways of the Manor. It was quiet, as if it knew the importance of this night. He was the last one here - everyone else had already left. Father was with the Dark Lord. Mother was enjoying Uncle Sylvestre's hospitality in France. As Father had said, her role was different, but she did her part all the same.

Once outside, he went straight to the apparition point. He took a deep breath and concentrated - he still needed some practice - before apparating to his destination.

His guide was waiting for him there. "You're on time. Good."

The Death Eater beckoned him to follow. They went down the barely visible path, curling as it descended the steep slope, to a remote, secluded clearing deep in the woods. Draco was aware of the things lurking in the darkness beyond the path - this forest was as old as it was dangerous.

He couldn't help but grin at the thought - they were practically right under Dumbledore's nose! From what Father had told him, there was a hill nearby, rising above the trees. If one were to climb it, one could see Hogwarts to the northwest and Hogsmeade to the south.

The clearing they were going to was a hallowed place to them and their cause. The first Death Eaters had made their vows there. Now, no vows were necessary. Words were redundant when all that needed saying was represented by a symbol.

The Dark Mark.

Tonight was a test. He had worked so hard for the right to attempt passing it - he had the scars to prove it. Mulciber was a hard taskmaster, but an effective one. Not all recruits followed these rituals, but Draco was happy to. It was an established tradition, decades old, deserving of its a place among the others. He was ready.

Darkness gave way to the light cast by a small fire. The stones surrounding it were adorned with runes, representing qualities the Dark Lord desired in his Death Eaters. Loyalty. Courage. Cunning. Determination. Skill. Dedication. Draco had worked for months to make sure he was all of those things and more. He would prove it this year, starting tonight.

There weren't many Death Eaters present. Most were in Azkaban. It was the right and duty of the Inner Circle to witness the initiation. Right now, there were only five, arranged in a circle on the tips of a five-pointed star. Five masks, each unique to its owner, reflected the dancing fires. They were decorated with symbols and runes the meaning of which were only known to the wearer and the Dark Lord himself.

He was there, standing close to the fire, opposite from Draco and Nott. They were the only suitable candidates. None of the other recruits had impressed the Dark Lord. Draco respected Nott's accomplishments, but hardly considered him his equal. Nott was talented, but lacked conviction. Draco had been prepared for this since he had learned to walk.

The Dark Lord smiled at them.

"Draco. Theodore," he said in greeting. "You have waited for this moment for a long time. Finally, you are here, in this circle. Your abilities speak for themselves."

No one else spoke. It wasn't their place. The Dark Lord would say whatever words were needed.

"You have come a long way and you have arrived. Welcome."

They bowed their heads.

"The ceremony is simple and we shall not prolong it unnecessarily. You have elsewhere to be tonight, after all."

Then the Dark Lord's wand was in his hand. He pointed it at the fire and a white-hot branding iron rose from where it had been heating up. Draco felt a mixture of dread and anticipation. He wanted to do it, but it would hurt like nothing he'd felt before.

"Theodore," the Dark Lord said, wand in one hand, brand in the other. "Step forward."

Nott did, dropping to one knee, holding up his left arm. The Dark Lord slid the wand along the sleeve, splitting it down the middle. The fabric fell away, revealing unblemished skin.

"I give you my Mark. Wear it with pride. Wear it with _purpose."_

The scream that pierced Draco's ears threatened to shatter his eardrums and made his teeth vibrate. Nott screamed until he was out of breath as the Dark Lord held the brand to his flesh, burning it away almost to the bone. Nott seemed frozen in his position, held in place by magic.

Finally, the Dark Lord lifted the iron, slashed his wand once and Nott collapsed, pouring with sweat, eyes rolled back. A Death Eater left the circle and pulled Nott up by the newly Marked arm, as if Nott were a ragdoll.

 _That'll be Greyback, then,_ Draco thought.

When Nott still couldn't find his footing, Greyback backhanded him. It worked - his eyes focused again and he repaired his robe. Still trembling, Nott returned to his place by the fire.

The Dark Lord's eyes settled on him. "Draco. Step forward."

Draco knelt down in front of the man, rolling up his sleeve and bowed his head.

"I am ready, my Lord," he said, barely above a whisper.

"Very well. Wear my Mark like it is expected of you."

The pain was undescribable. It was futile to try to find words for it, in any language, human or otherwise, but he kept his mouth shut. He couldn't hold a grunt that escaped him at first, but he held out. He had been prepared for this. He would not scream. He _would not break._ He was a Malfoy and Malfoys were supposed to be better than that. Tonight, he would prove worthy of that name. He focused on those thoughts instead of the pain and, somehow, it ended as suddenly as it had started. A rush of relief and tiredness threatened to take him, but he overcame it and stood up before Greyback reached him.

"Very good, Draco," the Dark Lord said appreciatively. "You are becoming more like your father."

As much as he admired Father, Draco secretely disagreed. He was going to be _better._

The Dark Lord laughed.

~~oOo~~

He was breathing deeply, calmly. They weren't rushing. This wasn't a routine operation - the Dark Lord gave you the target and expected you to show him what you could do.

Arrangements had been made to minimise risk. There was no need to cause an incident - well, apart from the one that had been planned.

Their dark cloaks, combined with Notice-Me-Not Charms made them undetectable to muggles and other common filth. Mulciber led the party towards a stately brick house. Draco had to admit he was disappointed. He had been hoping for a rundown ruin, like the Weasleys' oh-so-proudly named Burrow. He knew that rich muggles lived in nice enough homes, but this... this was practically an insult.

Mulciber stopped in a darkened alley. "Greyback, get the guard. And for Merlin's sake, don't make a mess for once."

The werewolf grunted. "You want her alive?"

"If you can manage it, sure, but she's not important. Macnair, show me the ward stones. You said there were two?"

"Yeah. Over there."

"Initiates." Mulciber turned to him and Nott. "Wait here until I come to get you. Don't move, or I'll make sure you will never move again."

The three Death Eaters were gone for a few minutes. Greyback returned last, his clawed hands covered in blood.

"Goddamn you, Fenrir," Mulciber snapped.

"She resisted. I made a tactical decision."

"What did you do with the body?"

"Dumped it in he river."

"Good enough. Initiates... follow me."

Mulciber waved his wand at the gate. A box with buttons on a pillar next to it crackled, hissed and spat out a few sparks. They cobblestone path to the door ran along a neatly trimmed lawn. Mulciber took off his mask and hood in front of the door.

"Thanks to Lucius, the Trace grid has been temporarily disabled in this sector. We will have two hours. Make the Dark Lord proud," Mulciber said. He pressed a button next to the door and Draco heard a muffled melody coming from inside. Almost a minute later, the door opened, revealing a man in his forties.

"Mr. Granger?" Mulciber asked. "My name is Jervis Mulciber. I'm terribly sorry about the late hour, but this concerns your daughter."

"Hermione? Has something happened to her?"

"I believe we should sit down for this conversation," Mulciber lied smoothly.

"Fine. Come in."

And thus, the man sealed his fate. Draco smiled in excitement as the three of them walked inside, a spell on the tip of his tongue.

 _If only the mudblood could see this._


	12. CHAPTER FOUR: Momentum, Part 1

**CHAPTER FOUR: Momentum**

 **Part 1**

He had read the same paragraph six times, but couldn't make sense of it. It referenced concepts that sounded too advanced for Hogwarts curriculum and he'd never studied Ancient Runes or Arithmancy anyway. His research had lead him this far, but no more. Perhaps Sirius could shed some light on this. Or perhaps he shouldn't have chosen electives that seemed the easiest to pass.

"Harry, open up!" Ron's voice came from outside.

"One moment," he called back and bookmarked the tomes he had been reading, then put them away.

"Harry, move it! Merlin's rotting balls..."

He opened the door. "What is it?"

"Just come on... This is bad..."

"Ron, wait- Ron!"

Closing the library door behind him, he followed Ron. People were moving, talking and gesticulating wildly. He turned around, but Ron had gone off somewhere. He spotted Sirius and Remus in a remote corner, talking quietly with Tonks, who was speaking very fast.

"What the hell happened?" he asked as he approached them. They froze, staring at him for a moment, their whispered conversation forgotten.

"Harry..." Remus began, but words seemed to fail him.

"I should get back to the Ministry," Tonks said. "I'll see what I can dig up." With that, she left.

Harry looked at Sirius. "Well?"

"There's been an attack," Sirius said. "Professionally coordinated and executed. And last night a portion of the Trace grid in London went dark for two hours."

"What attack?"

"Not the kind the Ministry would concern itself with, or notice. We only know because we were protecting the place."

Remus put a hand on his shoulder. "Harry... It was Hermione's house."

For a moment, Remus' words didn't make sense. Then, the pieces fell into place.

"Hermione- Hermione's parents?"

Sirius nodded slowly. "She's upstairs. I think you should go to her."

He didn't know how he got from the hall to Hermione's room. The door was slightly ajar. He peered inside - Hermione sat on the bed, sobbing into Ron's chest. Ginny was there too, whispering something.

He put his hand on the door to push it open, but hesitated. Was he really needed right now? Would she want him there? He had pushed Voldemort and Voldemort retaliated. How much of the blame was his?

Hermione's parents were dead. _Her parents were dead._ He had played a dangerous game and someone else paid for it. He'd never met the Grangers, he simply never even _considered_ them, but it didn't matter. Grangers surely had people who would mourn for them. Hermione was more important now.

He wasn't good at comforting people. What could he say? Could they bond over being orphans? But if not this, what else was there? He couldn't just do nothing.

He turned away from the door, but before he took one step forward, it opened wide and Ginny stood there.

"I- I should-"

Ginny pulled him inside and pushed him towards Hermione. When she saw him, a broken cry escaped her and she flew into his arms and he fell back. Ron and Ginny sat down next to him on the floor and the three of them closed a circle around Hermione. No one said anything, because no words could fix this.

Tears fell. Minutes ticked away. And inside Harry, something ugly grew.

~~oOo~~

Mrs. Weasley pleaded with Hermione to take a dose of Dreamless Sleep and rest, but she was determined.

"I need to see," she said quietly, voice hoarse. "I need to see for myself."

Dumbledore arrived soon. Harry avoided him for a while until he calmed down. He knew, rationally, that this wasn't Dumbledore's fault. Voldemort had done this. But he needed to direct the anger somewhere and Dumbledore seemed willing to accept the blame, if only to make it easier for everyone else.

"How could we let this happen?" he demanded when the Order assembled around the kitchen table. "Someone needs to answer for this."

"We did everything we could, Harry," Dumbledore said. "There was security, but not enough to attract unwanted attention. We could not have predicted this."

"Tonks send word from the Ministry," said Sirius. "The Trace was sabotaged and I'll bet all of my gold that Lucius had a hand in this. Hestia was turned into Swiss cheese. We all know what that means."

"No, we don't," Sturgis Podmore interrupted. "What does it mean?"

Sirius looked at the Hit-wizard crossly. "This wasn't a randomly selected target. And if Death Eaters just wanted to kill some muggles for fun, they wouldn't have needed to sabotage the Trace. This was an initiation. They don't organise those for any recruit."

"And we know who's a little Death Eater in training, don't we?" Harry said. "Pathetic little worm-"

"Harry, control yourself," Dumbledore ordered.

"I will _kill_ Malfoy."

"HARRY!" Dumbledore's voice struck like a whip. "We can discuss this later. Right now, your friend needs your support. I think it would be best if you-"

"No, he's right," Sirius said. Several heads turned. "This makes perfect sense... though we can't be sure. I know someone who could shed light on this." He stood up, making a show of looking at those gathered around the table. "Where is Snape?"

"Are you implying-" Sturgis began.

"That's exactly what I'm implying," Sirius cut him off. "Voldemort doesn't have many Death Eaters available at the moment. Snape would have been present for their little ceremony. Get him here. He can tell us who was branded."

"I'm afraid he cannot," said Dumbledore, returning Sirius' gaze. "If he were to tell us this, Voldemort would know Severus is on our side."

"I wonder," said Sirius as he circled the table, "what's the benefit of having a spy if he can't tell us what he spied. What do we know about Snape's motivations, really? Why do you trust him? I'm sure we would all like to know."

The room was dead silent. Harry had never seen anyone openly defy Dumbledore like this.

"But the question isn't about Snape's motives, is it?" Sirius continued, his tone mutinous. "Rather, what do you have on him? What do you know that we don't about the esteemed potioneer?"

Dumbledore straightened to his full height. Sirius was tall, but Dumbledore was even taller. "If you doubt Severus," he said, "I suggest you ask him yourself."

Sirius scowled at the retort. "Maybe I will." Then he walked outside and they heard the crack of apparition.

"Harry," said Dumbledore. "Please wait for me in the living room with the others. I won't be long."

This wasn't a request and not one he felt like disobeying either. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were waiting for him in the living room.

"I think they're finishing up," Harry said. "Hermione... are you sure you want to do this?"

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "What did they say?" she asked, ignoring his question. "Do they know who did it?"

 _There's no persuading her, then._

"Nothing concrete... But there's a good chance it could have been Malfoy."

Ron's reaction was exactly what he'd expected.

 _"Malfoy..._ If he did this, I'll kill him!"

"That's what I said. Dumbledore wasn't thrilled."

Ginny crossed arms over her chest. "What did Snape say? He must know something."

Harry grimaced. "Snape's not even here. And Dumbledore says even if he knows something, telling us would put him at risk."

"That's bloody ridiculous!" Ron exclaimed. "Isn't he supposed to be spying for us?"

"Apparently he's not doing a very good job," Harry said. "I don't like that we're relying on that bastard for something. Voldemort can have him. Good fucking riddance."

Hermione's silence didn't go unnoticed, but none of them pointed it out. If Malfoy was involved, Harry could only try to imagine what she was thinking. Ron, however, had no qualms about loudly planning Malfoy's death.

"If Snape's too scared, we can find out for ourselves," said Harry. "He'll be on the train tomorrow. We'll get the truth out of him."

"You will do no such thing."

Dumbledore had entered. This was only the second time Harry had heard the man outright forbid something. Last time it, the Philosopher's Stone had been at Hogwarts.

"As much as I empathise with you all, I will not allow you to harm another of my students."

"Professor, this is _Malfoy_ we're talking about," said Ron. He had never addressed Dumbledore directly like this. Truly, today was a day of firsts.

"I understand, Mr. Weasley. Believe me, if Draco Malfoy is found to be responsible for this tragedy, he will be brought to justice. But you will not be his judges."

Harry's hand itched for his wand. "We'll see about that," he muttered, his back to the Headmaster.

"No, we shall not," Dumbledore said. "This is a serious matter, but we must not forget who we are and what we stand for. If we bring ourselves down to Voldemort's level, it will be another victory for him."

"I think," Harry said, turning to face the man, "that if Malfoy is guilty, _removing_ him will make the world a better place."

"And I think," said Hermione, standing up," that this isn't your decision to make, Harry. Or yours, Ron."

"Hermione, you can't be serious-"

"If Malfoy did this," she continued, "he will end up in Azkaban. I won't let my friends stoop to his level."

And that was that. Harry would like nothing more than to boil Malfoy's skin off, guilty or not, but Hermione had a right to have the last word.

"Fine," he agreed. "Malfoy can keep his head a while longer. If you change your mind..."

 _"Enough,"_ she said. "Let's just go."

They were stopped in the hall by Mrs. Weasley. "Are you really going there?"

"It is Miss Granger's choice," said Dumbledore. "I respect her decision."

Mrs. Weasley looked on with sad eyes. "Ron, I'd really rather you didn't but... you can go. Ginny-"

 _"Mother."_

"I will not let you-"

"I am not a child anymore!"

"Ginny, stay," Harry said quietly.

She turned to him with a furious look on her face. "You don't get to make decisions for me."

"You're making a scene," he said. "This isn't the time to argue."

Ginny's glare was instantly gone. She hung her head down and turned to Hermione. "He's right. I'm sorry," Ginny said and they hugged briefly. "I guess... I guess I'll see you later, then."

Ginny whispered something that only Hermione could hear and they moved to leave. Out back, Dumbledore asked them to hold on to his arm.

"Miss Granger... are you certain you want to see it? I shall not ask again."

She looked determined, though Harry could tell it was costing her a lot not to break down.

"Yes."

Dumbledore apparated the group to an alley between two properties. Hermione moved in between him and Ron and took their hands, squeezing tightly. They matched her pace - she walked slowly, movements reserved. Dumbledore followed a few paces behind.

They walked in silence, passing several houses, until Hermione stopped abruptly in front of an iron-wrought fence gate. The electronic box next to it was broken. From here, Harry could see black-and-yellow tape plastered in an X on the front door.

He leaned in and said, "You don't need to do this.. Say the word and we're leaving."

She let go of him and Ron and took several uncertain steps forward - the last hesitation - then quickly walked up the stairs, tore down the tape and opened the door. She had gone inside when he and Ron caught up.

As far as Harry could tell, the house looked untouched outside, apart from the gate box. Inside, it was the opposite.

There didn't seem to be a single object in sight that hadn't been smashed to pieces. Some of the debris appeared to have been moved - probably by the police. He tried to imagine what it all had looked like just a day ago, but the scope of destruction eclipsed any mental image he could create.

Hermione walked stiffly through the house like hypnotised, her fingers brushing along the mantle of the fireplace, the edge of the table, broken in half, a sofa, now gutted, the stuffing covering everything around it...

He left Ron to watch over her and stayed behind with Dumbledore. "Muggle police have been here," he said quietly.

"Yes. A neighbour noticed the door was open in the middle of the night and called the police. They arrived here before us."

"How is that possible?"

"Hestia Jones – last night's guard – was killed before she could send a warning."

Harry swallowed. "How did she die?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Judging by her wounds, it was the work of Fenrir Greyback."

"This mess isn't just a cover-up to fool the muggles. Someone _enjoyed_ this."

"Undoubtedly."

"Malfoy hates Hermione, Professor. She's better than him and he can't stand it. He would do something like this."

"We don't have proof, Harry." This time, Dumbledore sounded less authoritative than before. "I will not tolerate one student attacking another without cause. Within Hogwarts or without."

"Then _I'll get_ proof," Harry said in a low tone. "Even if Malfoy wasn't involved, he might know something."

"What you're proposing requires a warrant from the Wizengamot and consent of the school governors."

"Lucius Malfoy is one of them! We won't get either!" Harry let out a loud breath and leaned heavily on the nearest wall, struggling to pull back the reins on his anger. How could Dumbledore expect him to be fair? Malfoy had never been. He was _not_ going to let this slide.

"That is the law and we must follow it."

"Are you bloody serious?" Harry barked. "You're running a vigilante group!"

"Desperate times require desperate measures. The difference between us and Voldemort is where we draw the line. There are some lines I won't cross."

 _"I'll cross them for you."_

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "We can talk about this later. Your friend needs you."

"Professor Dumbledore..." It was Hermione. "How- how did they die?"

"My dear, you shouldn't burden yourself with such things."

But Hermione wasn't backing down. "I'll have to see them in the morgue. I would appreciate a forewarning."

Harry understood. He hated not knowing things.

 _This, we have to know,_ he thought. _So we can do the same to whoever killed them._

There would be hell to pay.

"The police only found evidence of physical wounds, but both have been exposed to more sinister magic."

"The Cruciatus Curse?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore looked at her sadly. "Among others, yes."

"Where were they found?"

"In this room," said Dumbledore. "But they didn't die here."

"Where?"

Harry dreaded Dumbledore's next words.

"In a room upstairs. I presume it belongs to you," the Headmaster said. "I am so sorry."

Harry hated the fact the he had guessed right.

Hermione bit down hard on her lip, almost on the verge of breaking down, but she kept her tight control in place. She turned around and disappeared up the staircase.

Ron looked at him. "Do you think we should-"

A shrill, ear-piercing cry cut him off. They bolted upstairs – the second floor was as much of a mess as the rest of the house. Picture frames and flower pots laid broken, doors had been blasted off the hinges. Even the bathroom hadn't been spared. They followed the cries towards the door down the hall.

The large room – the room where Hermione grew up – looked like the aftermath of a hurricane. Furniture was shattered, torn clothes strewn about. The destruction was... thorough.

Hermione had collapsed in the middle of it all, clutching a framed picture. The glass was broken and stained with something that could only be blood, but Harry could make out the photograph of Hermione with her parents. It looked recent. Ron knelt down next to her and put his arms around her. Hermione curled up against him.

Harry took careful steps, not wanting to disturb even a single splinter of wood. A strange sensation prickled in the back of his head. He looked up at the ceiling. There, smeared with more blood, was a message that could not be clearer. A crude Dark Mark and next to it...

YOU'LL BE NEXT, MUDBLOOD

When Dumbledore came in, he had just enough time to glance at it before the grotesque painting vanished. Harry felt a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I don't think the muggle police saw this, sir," he said.

"Of course not," said Dumbledore. "Timed charm, triggered by Miss Granger's presence..."

Harry swallowed back bile rising in his throat. This was wrong. Cruel. _Perverted._

He picked up the photograph Hermione had dropped. She smiled at him from the picture, the opposite of the crying girl on the floor. He sat down next to her. There would be time for revenge later. Right now, she needed him.

~~oOo~~

Percy treasured his evenings.

He usually finished his work in the Ministry itself and preferred to stay in longer rather than bringing work home. He actually enjoyed his job – how many people could claim to be as involved in the most important events at the Ministry, so close to the seat of power? – but he wasn't as big a workaholic as his family thought him to be. He had other interests and that's what the evenings were for.

Sometimes he'd join fellow employees for drinks. He understood how important it was to be well-connected. Those instances were few and far between, however. Socialising sucked out his energy. As far as he was concerned, human contact was to be administered in carefully regulated doses.

Which is why he hated having his evenings interrupted by knocking on the door.

He waited just a moment to calm down before answering. It wouldn't do to yell at the landlord, even if the man deserved it. Percy was sure the dementia was just an excuse to demand more money from tenants. He wished he could move to a nicer place, but this was what he could afford for now. At least he was self-sufficient.

He swung the door open with half a mind to really yell at the landlord. "Mr. Collarbee, I've left the cheque with your-"

The man on his doorstep wasn't Mr. Collarbee. Bartemius Crouch looked at him from six feet, two inches, with a hint of amusement that was immediately replaced by the usual professional demeanour.

"Mr. Weasley. I hope I'm not intruding."

'Of course you are, go away' was out of the question, so Percy simply shook his head and stepped aside to let the visitor in.

Crouch quickly surveyed the flat. "Cozy," he said dryly.

Percy couldn't help but notice that Crouch had been much more polite last year, when he had been under an Imperius Curse.

He shuddered.

"Good evening, sir. May I offer-"

"No, thank you. You may wait at the door. I'm expecting a few more people."

 _You're expecting more people? You didn't live here last I checked, you smug... politician._

Even in his thoughts, Percy couldn't call the man a bastard.

Like a charm, there was another knock on the door. This time, it was Marcus Plateau.

"Good evening, Weasley, Barty. Are you sure this is a good place to do this?"

"It's inconspicuous," Crouch said. "Unless you were followed."

Plateau bristled. "Just because I wasn't an Auror doesn't mean I can't be discreet."

"I didn't mean to offend," said Crouch.

"Nevermind. Are the others on their way?"

 _What others? The two of you in my flat isn't enough?_

"They should be here shortly. I've met with Algernon earlier today. He assured me he would be here."

"And Scrimgeour?"

"He won't pass up the opportunity. He's furious with Fudge."

Percy was at a loss. Why were four of the most influential Cabinet members meeting covertly _in his flat_ to plot against the Minister?

 _You owe me for this, Harry._

Barely a minute passed before the last two unwanted guests arrived. Together, the four Directors converged on him. Percy suddenly felt very small.

"Mr. Weasley," Crouch said. "It is our understanding that you are in at least semi-regular contact with Harry Potter."

Percy cleared his throat. "I wouldn't describe- I mean, you could say that."

"Doubtlessly, you remember our last meeting. Mr. Potter's account and my own recollection of last year's events have led us to conclude that until the Ministry changes its course, You-Know-Who has an advantage over us. However-"

"This smells too fishy without Dumbledore," Scrimgeour interrupted. "I want to meet them both."

Crouch appeared mildly irritated at the interjection, but collected himself within a blink of an eye. "Indeed. We would be much obliged if you could inform them. We would appreciate an opportunity to talk in complete company, as it were."

Percy needed a moment to find his words. "Right now?"

 _"Yes,"_ said Scrimgeour.

Percy promptly disapparated, arriving on the roadside in Ottery St. Catchpole in several more jumps. The Burrow's lights shone brightly a short distance away. He broke into a run, barrelling through the gate and into the kitchen, where Bill sat with the Evening Prophet.

"Perce! I didn't know you were coming today."

"I didn't either. I need to talk to Harry and Professor Dumbledore."

Bill shifted nervously. "This isn't the best time."

"Of course it bloody isn't!" Percy snapped. "Why do you think I showed up so suddenly? _I need to talk to them._ Both of them. Right now."

Bill understood that something must have happened, because he fired up the Floo without another word of protest and stuck his head in the flames. He remained like this long enough that Percy started getting nervous. Dumbledore was a busy man. Harry surely had something to do in the summer. Percy didn't want to be caught between a rock and a hard place if they couldn't make it. Crouch had made himself very clear.

Bill backed away from the dancing green flames and Harry came through right after, looking downright furious. "What do you want? This better be important."

"Well, imagine my surprise when-"

"Perce," Harry said sharply. "I'm not in the mood for storytelling. Death Eaters hit Hermione's home last night. Her parents are dead. Get to the fucking point."

Percy's heart skipped a beat. "What?"

Before he knew it, Harry was right in front of him. _"What do you want?"_

A few precious seconds passed before the initial shock ebbed away and Percy could form a coherent sentence. "Crouch, Plateau, Croaker and Scrimgeour showed up in my apartment. They want to see you and Dumbledore as soon as possible. They made it clear that they meant right now."

"Why?"

"Something to do with Fudge, I don't know exactly, but you convinced them. They want an assurance of support from Dumbledore or they won't move a finger."

"I know that Dumbledore and Croaker are friends, but you said Scrimgeour is there too?"

"Yes," Percy said exasperatedly. This evening was getting crazier by the second. "Get Dumbledore and get back here. Crouch didn't look too patient and I don't want to end up the dead messenger."

Harry ran a hand down his face, his jaw set. "Fine," he said at last. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

And he Flooed away.

Percy turned to his brother. "Do you mind explaining what the hell is going on?"

"War," Bill said. "This is how it starts."

~~oOo~~

The last day of August dawned with pouring rain and a chilly wind after a week of sunny weather. The clouded grey sky over London was a depressing omen.

The church had an atmosphere of solemn silence as the service began. Harry didn't know most people in attendance. Some Order members were present for security. There were Grangers' friends and colleagues. Even a few old classmates of Hermione's. Harry wondered how many were here because they truly cared about her. He felt tempted to ask her who she would like thrown out.

The service was short. Someone gave a brief eulogy, people came over to offer condolences, but that was it. Hermione was an only child, she had no uncles or aunts and her grandparents had died before she had come to Hogwarts.

Voldemort had chosen the targets well. The attack had taken the last of Hermione's family and cut deeply into the Order, sowing doubt in their own ability and spreading misery.

Harry thought back to the bloody message on the ceiling. _You'll be next, mudblood._ Almost the exact words Malfoy had uttered three years ago. That was all the proof he needed. Harry knew that Malfoy did this and he would be the first to pay for it. Dumbledore would disapprove. He would protect the little rat. Innocent until proven guilty, he'd said. Then he asked for Harry's word that he wouldn't harm Malfoy. It was a promise Harry would break without blinking.

If he failed tomorrow on the train, there would be other opportunities - whenever Dumbledore was out of the castle, or Hogsmeade weekends.

Harry had never imagined that planning murder would help settle the anger. It burned like acid, leaving him restless. He hadn't had a night's sleep since the morning they had found out. Was that what hatred felt like? The feeling only grew more unbearable with time, flaring up at the very thought of Malfoy.

Dumbledore, disguised, joined them when they left the church. The Order was on edge, even expecting Voldemort to try something at the funeral. Harry wouldn't be surprised. A part of him wanted Death Eaters to show up just so he could curse them.

With Hermione between them, he and Ron held umbrellas as they watched the caskets being lowered into the ground.

Other mourners gathered slowly around the grave. Some came over, offering support and comforting words. Hermione replied politely, shook hands and introduced Harry, Ron and Ginny over and over. The small crowd broke up and dispersed shortly after - no one wanted to stand in a cemetery in the rain. Most paid their respects and left. One person - he appeared to be Hermione's age - seemed more sincere than others.

"Hey, Hermione," he said. "How are you holding up?"

"It's... hard," she admitted. "But I'll be fine. Guys, this is Robert. We went to school together. This is Ginny, Ron and Harry."

"Hello," said Robert. "It's nice to meet you."

Ginny took it upon herself to answer for all three of them. "Forgive their manners. They're oafs."

Ron smiled apologetically. "Yeah. Nice to meet you too."

Robert shook hands with all of them, smiling in greeting, then turned to Hermione again. "I'm sorry about your parents. I hate that this is how we're meeting after two years."

Hermione made small talk for a while longer and Harry just wished Robert-from-school would go away. Wouldn't Hermione have mentioned him if he was someone important?

 _Or maybe you should have asked, you idiot._

The realisation came with a topping of guilt - it was true, he'd never asked Hermione about her life outside Hogwarts. He was always preoccupied with whatever was trying to kill him any given week. In hindsight, it seemed incredibly selfish. He glanced over at Ron, who looked like he had just eaten something disgusting.

 _I wonder if he's thinking the same thing._

"Where will you be staying?" asked Robert.

"With Harry," Hermione replied. "I mean, with his godfather."

Robert gave him a questioning look.

"My parents are dead too," Harry said bluntly.

"We're going back to school tomorrow," Ron added.

"Right, the mysterious boarding school in Scotland," Robert said. "You never told me where it is, exactly."

"It's hard to explain," Hermione said. "There's nothing around for miles. I'm not leaving tomorrow, though. I'll be in London for a few more days."

"I'm in London all the time. If you ever need to talk... or anything else..."

"Thank you, Robert. I'll keep that in mind."

"What do you mean you're not leaving-" Ron began.

"There are some things that need to be taken care of. I'm still coming to Hogwarts, just not right away."

"We should get going," Harry said. "My godfather will be waiting for us."

Sirius wasn't here. Ron took the hint and murmured his agreement. The argument was averted, for now. Hermione and Robert said their goodbyes and he left.

"Let's go," Hermione said with a last glance at the grave. "I don't want to look at this anymore."

~~oOo~~

When Harry woke up and looked out the window, the sky was overcast with heavy, dark clouds. It looked like rain would come before they made it to King's Cross.

The clock softly chimed six. Ron was still sleeping, so Harry dressed carefully so as not to wake him up and took his trunk downstairs. Mrs. Weasley had made sure they packed the previous evening. Only Hermione hadn't. She hadn't told them how much longer she would be staying in London and no one felt like pressuring her about it. Harry thought she wanted a few days of peace before she had to deal with the drama of Hogwarts again.

In the kitchen, he helped himself to one of the sandwiches piled on a large plate under a Preservation Charm and set water to boil. He found the taste of coffee foul, but it would keep him alert.

Tonks shuffled in through the back door and immediately smelled the freshly brewed coffee.

"Good morning," Harry said, noticing the bags under her eyes. "Long night?"

She sat down next to him. "Sirius is a monster," she grumbled, cradling a mug and a sandwich. "We spent hours combing the forest where Remus found the latest lead, but there was nothing there. Pettigrew probably set up a false trail."

"Mhm."

"What about you? Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Not much," Harry said. "Hermione woke up in the middle of the night."

"You can't keep drugging her with Dreamless Sleep, it's very addictive," Tonks pointed out.

"She only took it twice. Dumbledore said she'll be fine."

"Well, if Dumbledore said so..."

"What about the other thing? Have you found Voldemort's lair?" he asked.

Tonks sighed, unintentionally blowing up steam from her coffee. "We found something, but it's probably under Fidelius. We've eliminated almost every other method of concealment. If it is Fidelius, you can bet your sweet arse that Voldemort's the Secret Keeper."

"Sirius can't help with that?"

Tonks took a bite out of her sandwich. "It's not that simple. Assuming that's where Sirius was kept, he was never actually given the Secret. He saw a few rooms, so he could identify them if we get close, but we'd have to find them in the first place."

"What about Death Eaters? Some of them must know to get in and out."

He needn't mention how he knew that. The details of his last visit to Voldemort's head were known only to him and Dumbledore.

Tonks rolled her eyes at him. "Don't you think if it was possible to learn the Secret from someone else who knows it we'd have already done that? The Fidelius Charm isn't susceptible to such simple tricks."

"Has no one ever managed to break one without learning the Secret?"

"Only once and it's more a legend than a solid account. Doesn't provide details, just purple prose."

"Did you consult Dumbledore?"

Tonks nodded. "He took a good, long look at it. No dice. Sirius is having a blast though. He hasn't had to use such ridiculous Arithmancy since Hogwarts."

"I never took Sirius for a mathlete," Harry joked.

"A what?"

"Nevermind. You were saying?"

Tonks sniffed at the coffee, took a sip and grimaced. _"Accio Butterbeer."_ The refrigerator opened and a bottle flew out. She poured some of the beverage into her coffee.

"That looks like a waste of good Butterbeer," Harry said.

Tonks stuck out her tongue at him. "Shows what you know, Potter. What are you doing up so early anyway? The train leaves in five hours."

"I told you, I couldn't sleep. Even if I could, I'd get up early. Sleep seems like a waste of time these days."

Tonks drank her Butterbeer coffee and leaned forward. "Sirius told me what you're planning to do today."

"And he sent you to try and talk me out of it?"

"No. He said, 'don't kill him'."

"I wasn't really planning to _kill_ him," Harry said. "Not on the train, anyway."

"We know you're angry, Harry, but don't forget what Sirius told you. Don't be stupid."

"I didn't forget," he insisted. The memory of Ginny minutes away from death was still fresh in his mind. "And what about you? You don't disapprove?"

Tonks raised an eyebrow. "Why would you think that?"

"You're an Auror."

"I'm a Black," Tonks retorted. "But I'll tell you this. Lucius Malfoy will retaliate if a single hair falls from his son's head. Lucius doesn't fear the Ministry, because, well, it's the Ministry. He doesn't fear Dumbledore as long as Voldemort is around. And Dumbledore has rules he won't break."

"How can I make him fear me if Dumbledore doesn't phase him?"

"No kid has tried to before. And let's be honest, you're not an ordinary kid."

"But what do I do?"

Tonks smiled. "Start with his son."

Just then, Harry understood. He smiled back.

~~oOo~~

Harry and Ron pushed their trolleys at the front of the group, with Ginny, Fred and George behind them and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley following last. Their escort formed a loose ring and disappeared into the muggle crowd. Harry knew that Tonks and Sturgis were ahead of them and he spotted Sirius earlier - he had walked past Harry, winking from under his fedora.

Despite having packed in advance, they were still going to be boarding the Express just before departure. Moody had made the call to leave with only fifteen minutes to spare to minimise exposure on the crowded platform. Hedwig and Pig had been sent ahead to Hogwarts on their own.

Moody, who had somehow managed to blend in, suddenly turned up again just as they reached the portal. "We go in pairs. Tonks and Sturgis are already through. Arthur goes with Ron, then you two," he pointed at the twins, "then Molly and Ginevra. I go last with Potter. Sirius, get out of here. We've risked enough letting you come along this far."

They crossed into platform 9 & 3/4 quickly until only Harry and Moody were left.

Sirius swept Harry into a hug. "Be careful, but don't be cowed. Always have your wand with you. I'll see you in a few days."

"Alright, alright, enough!" Moody barked. "You'll jeopardise the whole operation!"

Without another word, Sirius flawlessly joined the river of bodies flowing through the station. Harry blinked and lost him.

Moody pushed him through the portal and in an instant the slim blue-and-silver train was replaced by the Hogwarts Express.

"Move, Potter, we're not stopping in the middle of this crowd."

Their group gathered near the front of the train, as older students tended to occupy those cars. Trunks were being levitated up the stairs.

Someone blocked Harry's view of the others, stopping the trolley with a silver-topped cane.

"Mr. Potter. I hear you've had quite an eventful summer." Lucius Malfoy was the image of wizarding perfection.

Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the man. "You have no idea."

"Heads up," said Moody. The rest of the group noticed Malfoy and even Mrs. Weasley's wand was drawn. The surging crowd split around them, clearing the space for an impromptu stand-off.

Draco, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle, also accompanied by Theodore Nott this time, formed a half-circle facing Ron, Ginny and the twins. A man Harry remembered as Walden Macnair broke away from the crowd, but stopped short when Remus bumped into him with a grim expression.

"Why, hello, Lucius." A hand clamped down on Malfoy's shoulder while another drove a wand into his side. "It's been too long," Sirius breathed into Malfoy's ear.

Then someone came up behind Sirius, hidden from neck to toes by a dark cloak.

"How have you been, you mad dog?" Mulciber turned and gave Harry a blood-chilling smile. "Mr. Potter. We must stop meeting like this. People will talk."

The grin slid off Sirius' face. "Damn. You got me."

"I did, didn't I?"

"Everyone, shut up," Moody ordered. "What is this about, Malfoy? Do you want fight it out here?"

"Hardly," Lucius said archly. "Today I'm merely a messenger."

In a slow, deliberate move, he produced an envelope from the folds of his cloak and placed it on top of Harry's trunk. The silver parchment and the Dark Mark pressed into dark green wax left no doubt who it was from.

"Draco," Lucius said, still watching Harry, "have a good semester."

"I will, Father."

The Death Eaters went their separate ways then, while Draco and the other Slytherins backed away through the crowd towards another car.

"Is it safe?" Harry asked.

Moody's magical eye zeroed in on the letter. "Aye, it is. I will expect a report on what _he_ had to say."

They boarded the train under the Order's watchful eyes. Fred and George marched off towards the front car as the Express slowly rolled out of the station. Harry and Ron luckily found an empty compartment, but Ginny kept going.

"You're leaving?" Harry asked.

"I have other friends, you know. I've missed them. I want to see them."

"You shouldn't be alone," Ron protested.

"I'll walk you," Harry said. Ron seemed agreeable to that compromise.

Harry followed her for the length of the entire car, only realising after a while how far down his eyes had wandered. It hadn't occurred to him before the Yule Ball last year what girls hid under the robes.

Ginny peeked into every compartment they passed, but her friends weren't in any of them. When they reached the door separating the cars, she turned to him with an unreadable expression, arms crossed.

"It's impolite to stare," she said.

Harry noted with chagrin that she was almost as tall him. "I'm sorry," he said, a bit too quickly.

"You don't sound sorry."

"Is there anything I can do to make up for it?"

"Maybe..."

The bag dropped to the floor when Ginny grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him close. Harry sank into the sensation. The kiss felt like it lasted longer than it probably did, and still ended much too soon for his liking. For a moment, he forgot about everything else and just enjoyed himself.

Teeth grazed his bottom lip sharply when she released him.

"...you bit me," he said, his breathing quickened.

"I'll do it again," she whispered. "I'll be fine. Just... don't do anything stupid."

"I'll try."

"Then at least don't get caught."

He felt dazed walking back to the compartment, though the feeling cleared before he reached the door.

Ron jumped to his feet. "Are we going or what?"

"Not yet. I want to take a look at that letter first."

The wax seal broke cleanly in half when he touched it. Inside was a folded piece of the same silver parchment the envelope was made of. On it was single sentence, penned in an elaborate script.

 _The game has begun._

Harry crumpled it into a ball, which then spontaneously burst into flames and the letter turned into a small pile of ash within seconds. The fire hadn't hurt him.

"Did you do that?" Ron asked.

"I think so," Harry said and shook the ash off of his hand.

"What did it say?"

"He wants to play a game with me. I can play," he growled. "You ready?"

Ron nodded. "Right behind you, mate."

"Then let's roll our first dice."

They went through two cars before they finally found Malfoy.

 _"Alohomora."_

The lock clicked and the door slid open. Inside, Malfoy sat surrounded by his usual entourage. Crabbe and Goyle entertained themselves with a heap of sweets. Malfoy was busy ignoring Pansy's advances and talking in hushed tones to Nott.

"Hello, _Draco._ Hello, Draco's sidekicks," Harry said.

Malfoy's face became marred by a grimace for a moment. "Potter, Weasel. To what do we owe the displeasure of your company?" His lips curled into a smirk. "And where did you lose the mudblood? Has she finally realised she doesn't belong among wizards?"

Harry had the advantage of already having his wand out. The Slytherins were too slow to shield themselves. The Bludgeoning Hex rolled through the compartment like thunder. They went inside and knocked out the disoriented Slytherins with a few well-placed stunners. Harry collected their wands and Ron locked the door and drew the curtains together.

"Check their arms," Harry ordered, stepping up to Nott.

They did that quickly, leaving Malfoy for last. Harry unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt. None of the Slytherins bore the Dark Mark.

"Damn it!"

"What now?" Ron asked. "Someone will have heard that. We should have put up some Silencing Charms."

"We're not done yet."

Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy's face, summoning his will to put it into the spell. Sirius had been very reluctant to teach it to him.

 _"Terror Conuerus."_

Magic rose in his chest, zapped painfully down through his arm and arced from the wand towards Malfoy. Harry closed the curtains on the window, plunging the compartment into shadow.

"Harry..."

The door rattled. Someone was trying to get in.

"Silence that and keep them out as long as you can. _Rennervate."_

Malfoy came to with a gasp.

"We got off on the wrong foot today, Draco," Harry said. "Let's try that again."

~~oOo~~

When he woke up, the others were strewn about the compartment haphazardly, unconscious. It was dark – the curtains had been drawn.

In front of him, Potter was grinning like a demon.

"We got off on the wrong foot today, Draco," he said. "Let's try that again."

"You'll pay for this, Potter."

He didn't seem concerned. "Oh, no doubt. Snape will lock me in a dungeon with a chest of fresh horned slugs. But Snape is at Hogwarts. No one here to save you."

"Give it a minute, Potter. You'll have half of Slytherin cursing you."

"You don't get it, do you?" Potter asked. "It doesn't matter. They can come in wands blazing. I'll wipe them out just as easily as I did you."

"What do you want?"

He had to buy time. People must have noticed. Weasley was apparently trying to keep the door closed. Even Potter couldn't be that stupid, could he?

"I want you to think very carefully before you answer my questions. I'm afraid I botched the spell I cast on you. Your heart may... flutter before I remove it. And I won't until you tell me what I want to know."

He hadn't noticed it before, but his heart seemed to be picking up the pace with every word out of Potter's mouth. Sweat immediately started pouring down his face.

"What do you know about the attack on the Grangers?"

Draco steeled himself. "What attack?"

Potter sighed heavily, his lip twitching. "You don't want to make me angry."

"You're barking, Potter."

"How are you doing, Malfoy?" Potter asked, tapping Draco's chest with a finger. "Is your heart beating steadily? Take a deep breath."

He tried, but his throat felt dry and constricted and he couldn't tilt his head back in his position.

"You're sweating like a pig, Malfoy. You're not _scared,_ are you?"

There was a mad gleam in Potter's eyes, the kind he'd only seen once before - when Father took him to see Aunt Bellatrix in Azkaban. Even though dementors had been ordered to stay out of their way, their aura permeated every inch of the island. It wasn't a pleasant memory.

"Harry, I can't keep them out much longer," said Weasley, but his voice was distant, like coming through a thick fog. Potter's face filled his vision, the features somehow sharper in the dim light, his hot breath on Draco's face.

"I'm afraid our time is up. What a pity," Potter whispered. "We must do it again. My questions will be the same. I suggest you prepare more satisfying answers... or I will tear you apart piece-"

Draco's skin felt like ants were crawling underneath it, piercing him with the tiny pincers.

"-by piece-"

Hundreds, thousands of stinging bites built up to a burning heat and he sweat even more profusely. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest and he couldn't breathe...

"-until you give me what I want."

He closed his eyes, but it was for nothing. Potter's face penetrated the darkness under his eyelids and closed in, teeth bared, about to take a bite of his flesh-

"Draco, wake up! DRACO!"

He snapped awake, almost falling off of the seat where he was lying.

"What- what happe-keh-" He broke into a hacking cough. Seconds stretched unbearably long until someone finally gave him something to drink.

"Potter happened," said Nott from the opposite seat. "He and Weasley came in, Potter cast a bludgeoner and knocked us out. That's all I know. Prefects said they tried to get in, but Weasley kept the door closed. _Weasley,_ can you bloody believe it?"

"Where's Potter now?"

"Probably back where he came from. How should I know?"

"Prefects just _let them go?"_ Draco demanded.

"One of the third-years swears they tried to stop them, but Potter went through them like was walking in a park. I'm not sure I believe him."

Draco swung his legs down to sit up. "Believe it. Potter, for all his flaws, is no slouch when it comes to magic. We'd be idiots to deny it. Where are the others?"

"I sent Crabbe and Goyle on a walk. Pansy's off writing a letter to Snape. If her owl is fast, maybe he'll receive it before we get to Hogsmeade."

"Do you remember anything else?"

Nott glared at him. "I told you, they stunned me. We're lucky the Dark Lord concealed the Marks. My sleeves were undone. They looked."

"Shut up!" Draco hissed. "We don't talk about this!"

"Relax. I made sure we're not overheard. I'm not stupid," Nott said. "You look shaken up. What did Potter do?"

Draco flinched. "Just asked some questions."

"You didn't spill, did you?"

"Who do you take me for?" Draco snapped. _"I_ didn't scream, remember?"

 _That damn owl better hurry up._


	13. CHAPTER FOUR: Momentum, Part 2

**CHAPTER FOUR: Momentum**

 **Part 2**

The welcoming feast this year was an exercise in restraint. Fellow Gryffindors kept asking about Hermione. Harry ignored the questions, pretending not to have heard them, but mere minutes into the banquet his patience was running thin. He'd had enough by the time Lavender started loudly speculating about a secret boyfriend that Hermione couldn't bear to leave behind. He was about to _silence_ her, but Ron beat him to it.

"Hermione has a family matter to deal with," he said. "So maybe you should stop yapping on about things you know nothing of."

Lavender and Parvati glared at Ron, mouths agape in surprised outrage. Harry tried to see it from their perspective - Ron was hardly a gentleman, but he had never been so rude to a girl before. Apart from Parkinson, that is. And Ginny, though sisters seemed to fall under a different set of rules. Manners aside, the exchange warned everyone else away from the topic of Hermione's absence.

Harry wasn't hungry and just moved his food around on the plate until Ron nudged him in the side.

"Feast is over. Let's go."

They stood up and joined the river of bodies exiting the Great Hall, where the current split in two: Slytherins and Hufflepuffs moved towards the dungeons, while Gryffindors and Ravenclaws started their usual climb up to the moving staircases. When they reached the first floor, someone sought them out at the rear of the crowd of Gryffindors, where they trailed a fair distance behind second years.

"Hey, guys. Good summer?" Dean asked.

Harry spotted a prefect's badge pinned to his robe. He had been wondering who would get it. Neither him nor Ron were exactly role models.

"That would depend on your definition of 'good'..."

"It sucked," said Ron. "What do you want?"

"Forget I asked," said Dean, rolling his eyes. "Professor Dumbledore wants to see you in his office. Classes don't start until Monday. Did you crash a car into the castle this time?"

Ron's expression darkened and he jammed his hands into his pockets. "I don't suppose this could wait until tomorrow?"

Dean shrugged. "Afraid not. He made it pretty clear you should leg it there right now."

"Yeah, we get it," Harry said. "And congrats on the badge, I guess."

Dean grinned at him. "Yeah, it was a complete surprise. I was sure you'd get it, actually."

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm not really one for sticking to the rules. You deserve it."

It was a hollow compliment, but Dean didn't seem to mind. "Thanks. I'll see you later."

Harry glanced at Ron. "How much do you want to bet Snape will be there?"

"No bet," Ron said. "I don't have any money to lose."

Harry's thoughts drifted as he and Ron walked towards Dumbledore's office. Malfoy had no Dark Mark. He had been so sure...

Absence of evidence didn't mean evidence of absence. Just because Malfoy wasn't Marked didn't remove him from the suspect list - a list that, so far, only featured one name. According to Sirius, one of the senior Death Eaters would have been present, but the initiate did all the _work._

Before he knew it, they stood before the gargoyle, realising only now that Dean hadn't given them a password.

Ron tilted his head. "So... should we name all of Honeydukes' stuff alphabetically, or..."

The gargoyle then moved on its own. Ron looked at him quizzically. "How does he do that?"

"We passed a few portraits on the way here," Harry said. "Although I've always wondered about the gargoyle."

"Isn't it just a statue?"

"It's Dumbledore," Harry said, shrugging.

They ascended the spiral staircase to the heavy oak door. Harry could have sworn the griffin ornament glanced at him before the door opened before them.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Please, come in."

There were two chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk, but there was also Snape in a corner, trying to merge with the bit of shadow cast by one of the bookshelves. Harry didn't need to talk to Ron to agree on not exposing their backs to Snape. They moved to the opposite side of the room.

"Good evening, Professor," Harry said. Ron maintained a watchful stare on Snape, apparently having decided Harry should do the talking.

Snape grimaced at them from his corner. "Typical."

"Severus," Dumbledore said with a hint of reprimand. "We are here because of a letter Professor Snape received shortly before the welcoming feast. In this letter, Pansy Parkinson claims you attacked her and her friends on the train, unprovoked. Is this true?"

"Sure, snakes cry and run to Snape," Ron blurted out. "What about every time Malfoy came looking for a fight?"

Dumbledore sighed tiredly. _"Professor_ Snape, Mr. Weasley."

"Don't bother, Headmaster," Snape said. He turned to look at Ron. _"If_ such incidents ever took place, you should have reported them to your Head of House, as any _sensible_ student would have done."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "It doesn't matter. Parkinson's claim is false."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?"

He met the Headmaster's eyes. "It wasn't unprovoked."

"Miss Parkinson wrote that you came into the compartment and after a brief verbal exchange started casting spells - without warning."

Harry looked at Snape crossly. "Why don't we invite _Miss Parkinson_ to join us? In fact, let them all come. Can't they speak for themselves?"

"They are not at fault here, Potter."

"I disagree," Harry said venomously. "We have two bodies to back up our words."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop below freezing.

"Mr. Potter-" Dumbledore began.

"We were interrogating a suspected Death Eater," Harry interrupted. "That's not a school matter as far I'm concerned."

Snape took a step forward. A grimace flashed through his face when he stumbled, though Harry was sure he'd have missed it if he hadn't been watching the man. "Do you have any idea what-"

"No, and that's the problem," Ron snapped. "We have no idea because you're a shitty spy, and now Hermione's parents are _dead!"_

Three wands were drawn in a blink of an eye and just as quickly, they were out of their owners' hands.

"That is quite enough," said Dumbledore. He hadn't moved from his position, but his wand now rested on the desk in front of him, along with three others. "We can resolve this without violence. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, have you found any evidence indicating that any of the Slytherins you attacked is a Death Eater?"

Harry glared at Snape. "Not yet."

"Then the incident was an unprovoked attack on your fellow students. You will both serve detention with Professor Snape, at the time and place of his choosing. Furthermore, twenty points will be deducted from Gryffindor, for each of you. Lastly... if another such incident takes place, your punishment will be decided by the school governors."

"And what if Malfoy attacks us?" Harry demanded.

"If _any_ student attacks another, they will be punished accordingly."

"Great," Ron muttered.

"Did you say something, Weasley?" Snape asked.

Ron's eyes narrowed when he looked at the man. "No... Professor."

"Monday. I will expect you in my office at eight," Snape said before collecting his wand and sweeping out of the room, his robes billowing behind him. Harry squinted. No, he didn't imagine it. Snape was favouring his left leg.

"That was bloody unfair, Professor," said Harry as soon as the door closed.

"How so?" asked Dumbledore. "No one granted you authority to interrogate suspected criminals. You attacked other students and so you shall be punished."

"Great. Can we go now?"

"In a minute. I haven't told you about the last part of your punishment yet." Dumbledore merely waved his hand and both their wands sailed gently towards them. "You will also serve detention with me."

 _That... is something new,_ Harry thought.

"I shall see you here on Sunday, at eight o'clock in the evening. Please, be punctual. You may go… unless there is something else you wish to tell me?"

They exchanged a glance.

"No, Professor," Harry said, "We'll see you on Sunday."

Downstairs, the gargoyle closed the passage behind them.

"Is this always how those things go?" Ron asked as they started the trek to the Gryffindor Tower.

"No. Usually there's more sweets," Harry said. "Say… did you notice something strange about Snape tonight?"

"His hair was even greasier than I remember, but I don't think that's what you mean," Ron said. "A little trouble walking, wasn't there?"

Harry nodded. "At the last meeting of the Order, Sirius said that maybe he'd pay Snape a visit."

"You think Sirius did that to him?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow as a hint of a smile curled his lips.

"Yes. And if I'm right, Snape must be really pissed. He won't let us get too close to Malfoy, not when he has to put on his one-man show for Voldemort."

Ron scoffed. "Malfoy is an idiot. He'll come to us. He always does."

Harry glanced at Ron. "He's never been hard to provoke…"

Ron gave a dark smile. "Maybe it's a good thing Hermione's not here yet."

~~oOo~~

It was Harry's first time beginning school with a weekend. He wasn't complaining. Not having to rush in the morning allowed him to collect his thoughts when he woke up. Yesterday had been mentally exhausting.

Ron's bed was empty and there were sounds coming from the bathroom. The others were still asleep. Harry dug through his trunk, not really knowing what he was looking for. Everything had gone exactly not the way it was supposed to. The letter he'd written to Snape in the summer, if it would have had any effect, was likely discarded after the affair on the train. He sat on the floor with his back to the bed, combing fingers through his hair. Just once he had wanted a year at Hogwarts without constant hostility in Potions, but that chance was now lost. And Hermione wasn't at Hogwarts – that was just wrong.

"Morning," Ron muttered, coming out of the bathroom, damp hair clinging to his forehead.

"Yeah..." Harry stood up, eyes falling to the bedside table, where his wand rested. "We've nothing to do today."

"Right. And?"

"We could get some practice in before Moody shows up."

Ron livened up at the suggestion, then frowned. "I thought we aren't supposed to go down there on our own."

"Hang the rules."

Ron nodded and collected his wand. "Alright. I'll be downstairs."

Ron left the dormitory. Harry glanced at the other beds. Curtains on all three were drawn. His roommates were rarely up at this hour on weekends. He wondered if they had any idea what was really happening out of sight. Wasn't Neville's grandmother friends with Dumbledore? He was sure she wasn't in the Order, but he imagined she must be suspecting something. He didn't know much about Dean and Seamus' families, apart from the fact that Seamus was Irish and Dean a half-blood.

It was a sobering thought - he had been sharing a room with them for four years now and he barely knew them. They played Exploding Snap sometimes and complained about Snape over Potions essays, but he had few close friends. Between Hermione and the Weasleys, he'd never felt inclined to expand his social circle.

 _Well,_ he thought, _if I wasn't always busy trying not to get killed…_

"Are coming or not?" Ron stood in the door. "I got bored waiting. Are you alright? You seemed miles away."

"I may have been," Harry said.

They left the tower and quickly made their way downstairs, using several handy shortcuts. They bumped into Fred and George into one of them.

"Hell-lo!" George hollered at them from the opposite end of the tunnel.

"Hi, guys," Ron said. "What are you up to?"

"'Up to'?" Fred asked with indignation. "Do you know us at all?"

"Carry on, gentlemen," Harry said as they passed each other. The twins each tipped an invisible hat to them and disappeared behind a corner.

"This passage connects to the one that leads directly to the dungeons," Ron pointed out. "I hope they covered the entrance to Slytherin dorms in Itching Powder."

Minutes later they landed at the bottom of the slide in the entrance tunnel. The basilisk found them just as they reached the door.

 _"Hello, Master,"_ it hissed. _"You haven't visited for some time."_

 _"I'll be here much more regularly from now on,"_

The basilisk tasted the air. _"The others have come and gone, but they are… uninteresting."_

 _"Yes, I don't imagine they're very talkative."_

The basilisk glanced at him with one eye and blinked, letting out a muffled, rumbling sound.

"What's it doing?" Ron asked in a whisper.

"I think he's laughing," Harry said, surprised himself.

Ron stared at the enormous serpent unconvinced. "Laughing?" he repeated in a deadpan tone. "Let's just go before everything I believe turns out to be a lie."

Harry snorted. "I'm sure food will taste just as good regardless of whether the basilisk has a sense of humour."

"How do you want to do this?" Ron asked. "Prim and proper, as dueling guidebooks teach?"

"For a start." Harry drew his wand. "I don't mind beating you in a fair fight first."

"You sure talk a lot."

Dumbledore had drawn a dueling circle on the floor of the Chamber, a thin line clinging to the stone, not unlike the age barrier that had protected the Goblet of Fire. Harry took a position opposite Ron and assumed a relaxed stance. As Sirius had proved to him, rigid postures worked well enough in the competitive circuit, where rules mattered - but that wasn't what Sirius was teaching him.

Ron didn't wait for him to begin.

 _"Stupefy!"_

The spell flew forward and met a shield with a bright flash. Anticipating the next spell, Harry instinctively stepped to one side, still having to block Ron's follow-up stunner. Immediately, Harry cast a Bludgeoning Hex, but Ron's defence held against it.

Harry slashed his wand downward. _"Incendio!"_ A sheet of flame, shaped like a scythe, rushed toward Ron, but met a shield. Fire exploded into a thousand sparks, but Harry didn't let it disappear. He _pulled_ the sparks together and then _pushed_ , pouring his will into the spell. A wall of fire hurtled back towards Ron, separating the duelists by sight.

 _"Obscuro,"_ he said clearly, but quietly and a cloud of thin smoke burst forth, hiding the arena completely. Harry crossed the distance quickly as Ron dispelled the last flames and aimed at Ron's chest, standing at arm's length. _"Expelliarmus."_

Ron's wand shot from his hand beyond the circle. He stared at Harry, fingers grasping at air. Harry bared his teeth in a grin. "How about that?"

He turned around to walk back to his spot but his legs were swung out from under him. He slipped and fell, then looked up to see Ron smiling triumphantly, pointing the yew dragon heartstring wand at him.

 _"Petrficus Totalus."_

Ron's spell, cast with a foreign wand, worked poorly, only slowing Harry down instead of paralysing him, but it was enough to render him helpless.

"Weasley one, Potter zero." Sirius walked into his field of view, looking down disapprovingly. "What did I tell you about showing your back to the enemy?" Sirius asked and flicked his wand.

The spell let go of him. Harry stood up and snatched his wand from Ron. "As I saw it, I'd already won."

"That's not what it looked like from where I was standing. Here." Sirius handed Ron his own wand. "You got cocky. Isn't that big head of yours too heavy to drag around?"

"Very funny," Harry muttered.

"It was a little funny," Ron said.

"Where's Moody?"

Sirius rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "Busy with something else. We'll try something different today. Ron – it's teamwork practice for you."

"And what am I doing?" Harry asked.

"Fighting us both," said Sirius.

Harry blinked. "Are you – I mean you can't seriously-"

Sirius' mouth curled into a smirk. "Get your arse to the other end of the chamber. We'll see how fast you really are."

~~oOo~~

As it turned out, reflexes alone didn't guarantee victory against multiple opponents.

"You're learning to react to immediate threats," Sirius commented after the third match. "As Moody would put it, you're only a mild disappointment today. Again."

Sirius limited himself only to spells that a Hogwarts student could be expected to know, but even when he slowed down, Ron's flanking attacks were enough to keep Harry on his toes. There was no room for error. Each mistake was twice as costly against two attackers.

This time, Sirius conjured a few dozen glass marbles and threw them haphazardly on the floor. "Material for transfiguration. Show us what Dumbledore's been teaching you."

Harry looked at the nearest few marbles, his mind infuriatingly blank. Dumbledore's lectures didn't lend themselves to quick interpretation.

"Begin!" Sirius' voice rang out from the other end of the Chamber. Ron immediately opened with a volley of jinxes. Most missed by several feet at this distance, but Harry still had to conjure a shield. Nervously glancing between Ron, gleefully casting spell after spell and Sirius, advancing at a leisurely pace, Harry's mind raced to come up with a strategy.

 _Hopefully someone will fix the floor._

 _"Tonare!"_

The downwards aimed bludgeoner tore a shallow trench through the floorstones.

 _"Accio!"_ The broken stones jumped up and towards him as he pointed his wand at the nearest opponent. _"Depulso!"_ The banished debris flew towards Sirius, who deftly sent it hurtling to the side, but in the moment it took him to do so, Harry summoned two of the glass marbles. Working faster than he ever had with Dumbledore, he transfigured each into a more-or-less straight wall and angled them to form a rudimentary barrier.

Momentarily hidden from view, he conjured a gout of flame and let it linger behind the wall as he circled around the nearest of the serpent pillars. He came out from behind it to see Ron and Sirius blow apart his transfigurations. Ron fired into the dissipating fire just as Harry caught him in the back with a well-aimed stunner. Ron collapsed, knocked out, but Sirius reacted in time to shield himself.

 _"Tonare!"_

The bludgeoner hammered on Sirius' shield, forcing him back a step. Harry moved forward, another incantation on the tip of his tongue-

-two spells clashed between the duelists. Harry flinched as the spells canceled each other in a bright flash, his hand shot up to shield his face…

His right hand was jerked back by the force of the disarming spell, he lost the grip on his wand and then nothing – and then he saw Sirius' face, only upside down.

"Not bad," Sirius said.

Harry sighed heavily. "I thought I had you."

Sirius grinned at him. "Not for a while yet, Potter. Take pleasure in the small victories."

Ron pulled him up to his feet. "You got me though. I thought you were playing with fire behind that wall."

"We're done for today," said Sirius. "I'd love to stay longer, but rats won't catch themselves. Keep working on nonverbal casting. It's the biggest improvement you can make relatively quickly, if you practice."

"How's Remus doing?"

A dark shadow appeared on Sirius' face and was gone just as quickly. "As well as can be expected, under the circumstances. We're both criminals now."

"They still think he helped Greyback escape?"

"It'll get worse before it gets better. The vote is tonight and that law will pass."

"How can you be sure?"

Sirius grimaced. "There's no way it won't in the current climate. Umbridge is Fudge's left hand - few will dare to give her the finger and none of them are swing votes. Don't worry about it. Focus on what you're doing here. I'll let you know if I need you."

"What about Crouch?"

Sirius put a hand on his shoulder. "As I said, I'll let you know if something comes up." He turned to leave, but turned around. "One more thing - Umbridge isn't here to teach anyone anything. She will try to bait you and spin things in her favour. Keep your tempers on a short leash."

"She can't be worse than Snape," said Ron.

"I mean it, boys. Don't let her get to you."

With that, Sirius left them alone in the Chamber.

"She can't be that bad, can she?" Ron wondered.

"We'll find out soon enough. One more match before lunch?"

"You're on."

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore was already waiting for them when they approached the gargoyle.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," he said, correcting the glasses that had slipped too low on his nose. "I see that you got my note. It's supposed to be a chilly evening."

"Good evening, Professor," Harry said for both of them.

"If you would each take my arm," Dumbledore said.

"Where are we going, sir?" Harry asked, the question escaping before he could stop himself.

"I have something important to tell you. The location will provide necessary context." Dumbledore smiled, but there was no joy in that smile. It was an expression Harry had seen a few times on Remus' face whenever he mentioned Harry's parents. "I can only hope that you'll listen… and hear what I say."

The apparition was much swifter and less unpleasant than when Sirius brought him along - or maybe he'd got used to it, as Sirius said would happen in time. They landed in a dark grove of spruce trees. Soft light broke on the needles, spilling through in bright flecks that covered his jacket. Nearby, there was a well-walked path leading outside the grove.

Dumbledore went first, followed by Harry and Ron at the end.

Harry frowned. Something about this place seemed familiar. "Wait, this is…"

It was the Godric's Hollow cemetery. The memories of his first visit were still vivid.

"Where are we?" Ron whispered above his shoulder.

"Godric's Hollow," Harry replied, just as quietly.

"Quite so," said Dumbledore. "Follow me."

Dumbledore led them to the wizarding quarter. It looked almost exactly the same, except there were more fallen leaves this time. Harry fought an instinct to turn around and walk away. If Dumbledore brought them here so could _lecture_ them over his parents' graves…

But the Headmaster stopped well before they reached Lily and James Potter.

Three names etched in dark gold stared back at him from the headstones with an intensity they hadn't possessed have the first time.

"Percival and Kendra," Dumbledore said, looking down at the larger grave. "My parents. And here… Ariana."

Harry only now noticed that there were no dates under the names.

"Who was she?"

Startled by Ron's question, Harry shook off a sudden chill dripping down his spine and straightened the collar of his jacket. The cold wind swept over the Dumbledores' graves, as if wanting to add the drama.

Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back. "She was my sister."

All three of them were content to let the ensuing silence linger for a long moment. Harry tried to find the right words for his question – wasn't that why they were here? - but everything he came up with just seemed _rude…_

"Sir… you said you wanted to tell us something important," he tried at last, omitting the question entirely.

Dumbledore took something out of his pocket. "I suppose both of you have one of these?"

The Headmaster smiled at them kindly from a chocolate frog card. His tipped hat didn't find into the frame.

 _What does the card have to do with-_

Then it hit him.

"Professor… is this about Grindelwald?"

Dumbledore tore his eyes away from the graves and looked at him with that sad smile. "I wish it was about ten pin bowling, but alas. Few people know this, but Gellert Grindelwald and I are very old acquaintances. I met him the summer after he was expelled from Durmstrang."

"Expelled..." Ron repeated slowly. "What did he do to get himself kicked out of _Durmstrang?"_

"Durmstrang isn't nearly as sinister as its reputation suggests, but it isn't what I would call a friendly place," Dumbledore said, looking at them kindly. "As any school, it has rules and Gellert exhausted his teachers' patience. He was expelled and told to never return. At the time, Europe was… turbulent. He made his way to England, reconnected with his aunt. That is how we met."

Dumbledore's robes twirled around his ankles as he paced leisurely down the path. "I was young and arrogant. Brash. Stubborn." He turned around to look at them again, but there was no smile this time. All emotion gone from his face, the Headmaster seemed haunted. "In many ways, not unlike yourselves. Gellert's beliefs aligned with my own and we became fast friends... It didn't last."

Silence fell over them again and Harry didn't dare interrupt. They stood in the evening chill, cold, but not moving. The moment turned into a minute, then two. Slowly but surely, he settled into a stoic patience, content to observe leaves dance in the wind. Next to him, Ron seemed hypnotised by the names etched into the gravestones.

It was a long time before Dumbledore spoke again.

"We had… a terrible disagreement. Wands were drawn… Ariana, such a gentle soul, was caught in the middle of it. My younger brother, Aberforth, was there as well. Three wizards, each convinced the other two were wrong… it didn't take much. Just a word, and my parents' garden became a battlefield." Dumbledore seemed to stumble back and fell heavily onto a bench by the path, eyes fixed on his sister's name. He took a deep breath. "Gellert fled, my sister was dead and my brother threw me out. It's been so many years… Aberforth never forgave me."

"Professor… your brother, he's- he's not here," said Ron.

"He's doing well. We speak sometimes… But I've carried the guilt ever since."

Harry couldn't help noticing parallels, even as a part of him screamed inside, begging him to stop.

Dumbledore stood. "Revenge is often righteous," he said, "but it poisons everything it touches. It always comes at a price – most times, that cost is too high. I _understand_ how you feel, boys."

When he said it, Harry had no choice but to believe him.

"Don't repeat my mistakes."

Sleep refused to come that night and he knew he would be tired and cranky in the morning, but it seemed trivial. Dumbledore's last words had burned themselves into his thoughts, making him question every motive that had pushed him towards Malfoy.

He _hated_ it.

"Harry?" Ron's voice broke through, jerking him back to the dorm from wherever he had been.

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking- and it's crazy, but I can't stop…"

"I think that was the point."

"Do you think… that means that Grindelwald killed Dumbledore's sister? Is that what he was, you know, implying?"

"I don't know, Ron."

 _Three wizards… my sister was dead._

Harry closed his eyes and a scene painted itself beneath his eyelids. Ron was next to him, facing Malfoy, and between the three of them stood Hermione.

"I don't know."

~~oOo~~

Amidst the usual morning bustle, Harry and Ron sat opposite each other at the Gryffindor table, in an impenetrable space of their own. It suited Harry just fine.

Aside from several hello's, no one spoke to them, repelled by the uninviting mood they were projecting. The two of them weren't really talking either, each absorbed by his own thoughts. Then someone sat down next to him, dropping a Daily Prophet on top of his scrambled eggs.

"Have you seen this garbage?"

Well, almost impenetrable.

"Good morning, Ginny," he said, summoning a crooked smile onto his face.

"Hi, Harry. Hi, Ron. Have you seen this?"

"Seen what?" Ron asked, looking up from his plate with wandering eyes.

"Read," said Ginny, dropping the Prophet on top of Harry's plate, then leaned over and stole some of Ron's bacon.

"Hey!"

"Wake up, brother."

Harry tapped the paper with his wand and the eggs stuck to it fell off.

 _NEW LAW MAKES UNREGISTERED WEREWOLVES CRIMINALS,_ proclaimed the headline. Below was a picture of Cornelius Fudge in front of a crowd of reporters, speaking in the Wizengamot Assembly.

"We knew there was a good chance it would pass," Harry said, passing the Prophet on to Ron.

"That doesn't make it better," Ginny said.

"No, it doesn't, but we can't do much about that right now. We should focus on things we can do here."

"That doesn't sound like the daring Harry Potter who slays basilisks," Ginny said.

"We could storm the Ministry, but I doubt we could convince the Wizengamot to repeal what they just passed."

Ginny rolled her eyes at him and grabbed the paper from Ron's hands, who had apparently been engrossed in the article.

"What the hell, Gin!"

Ignoring her brother's protests, Ginny leaned in towards Harry and their lips touched briefly and then she was gone. Harry looked across at Ron, who was eyeballing him like he would a garden gnome.

Harry coughed into his fist. "Yeah…"

"Are you dating my sister?"

"...I'm not sure."

Ron stared at him for a long moment and Harry's eyes started watering because he refused to blink.

"We'll be late for Potions," Ron barked, grabbed his bag and started walking towards the Entrance Hall at a brisk pace, his half-eaten breakfast forgotten. Harry caught up to him just before they entered the dungeons.

"Come on, mate. I'm not going to-"

"Talk to me in five minutes," Ron interrupted him and quickened his pace further.

They were among the last to arrive at the classroom door. As usual, Slytherins and Gryffindors aggregated into two groups on opposite ends of the hallway. Their appearance momentarily silenced the hushed conversations. Malfoy sneered at them from behind his housemates, content to let them show their back to the Gryffindors.

"What's up, guys," said Dean. "You look beat."

"Late night," Ron muttered.

"Were you sneaking around again?" Parvati accused. "You could have lost us points."

Harry rose an eyebrow. Ron's remark must have stung if she was bringing up first year. "Don't worry, Parvati. We're much better at sneaking around now."

"Be silent," a familiar voice cut through the dank air of the dungeons like a scythe. Snape jabbed his wand at the classroom door and it flew open. "Inside."

Harry pulled Ron in right after the Slytherins and sat directly behind Malfoy and Nott.

"It's the third time we've seen you together, Malfoy, Nott," Harry said quietly. "Are you an item?"

"What are you doing there anyway, Scarhead," Malfoy muttered, his head half turned. "Not going to hide at the back?"

"It's so I can watch you. _Very closely."_

"What was that, Potter?"

Harry looked up at Snape. "I said I want to observe Malfoy, sir. I think I'll learn a lot by watching the best student in the class."

Snape's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Then I shall expect your grades to improve dramatically, or you'll be in detention until the OWLs."

"Of course, Professor."

As Snape moved on – still with a slight hobble – Ron elbowed him in the stomach. "Are you insane?" he whispered. "What if he _does_ put us in detention until the exams?"

Harry smiled slyly. "Dumbledore won't allow it and he knows it. Now shut up, we shouldn't talk here."

Throughout the two-hour period Malfoy kept glancing at them, clearly uncomfortable at having him and Ron just behind his back.

"You should watch your potion, Malfoy," Ron hissed at him.

Harry jabbed Ron's hand with his knife and _looked_ at him.

"Fine, fine," Ron muttered, still glancing at Malfoy's back.

"How are we doing?"

Ron sniffed at the smoke rising from their cauldron. "It's green, if that's what you're asking."

"I don't think it's supposed to be dark green, though. Or smoking."

Ron shrugged. "Beats me. We did every step right."

"How sure are you of that?"

Ron looked at the potion, then at the recipe and back at the potion and frowned. "Now I'm not so sure."

Harry swept the leftover mint leaves from his own textbook. He moved the tip of the knife down the list of ingredients as he scanned it, making sure they hadn't missed anything. Recalling the brewing process, he grew impatient as the mistake was nowhere to be found, until the knife stopped at the bottom of the list.

"Oh, blast it."

 _Mint leaves, two ounces (chop with a silver knife)_

It was always the little things.

"Mint leaves," Ron read out loud. "Did we use too much?"

"Wrong knife. It was supposed to be silver."

"Why would it matter what kind of knife you use?"

"Because, Mr. Weasley…"

Harry watched with resignation as Snape vanished their potion in front of a very satisfied looking Malfoy.

"...silver is a highly reactive substance and many concoctions require its touch, even if it is not a listed ingredient. A fact you have clearly failed to assimilate in your first year." He wrote something down in a notebook. It was't hard to tell from the quill's deliberate, slow movements what their grades were. "Perhaps you and Mr. Potter require a remedial session. Eight o'clock sharp, in the classroom. Don't be late."

Shortly after, they began the trek up to the Defence classroom, trailing a ways behind the other Gryffindors.

"He gave us the same detention twice," Ron said, "just so he could stick it to us in front of everyone."

Harry was wondering. "You know… we could just not show up. He won't drag us into detention himself and what else can he do? Take points? Honestly, we've got bigger concerns than the House Cup."

Ron stumbled as he almost walked into a suit of armour. "You know this would mean war. He won't take prisoners."

"Probably," Harry agreed.

"Hermione will kill us."

"Also possible."

"Eh, we can try it once."

Harry looked at Ron to find him grinning, and smiled back.

~~oOo~~

"Good morning, class."

Unlike in Potions, this time they sat in the row furthest from the front of the room. Dolores Umbridge entered when everyone was already seated and barely spared anyone a glance until she wrote her name on the board.

There was a murmur of muttered greetings.

"Oh that won't do," Umbridge said. "Let's try again. My name is Professor Dolores Jane Umbridge. Good morning."

The class chorused an exaggerated 'good morning' and a smile stretched Umbridge's toad-like face. "That's better. As your… _one_ of your teachers, I expect to be addressed properly."

Harry winced when she cleared her throat - a familiar, unpleasant sound.

"I see that everyone has a copy of Slinkhard's _Defensive Magical Theory._ I'm sure you will find the author's observations insightful. The Ministry's highest priority coming with my appointment to this position is creating a safe environment for learning…"

Umbridge droned on as Harry quickly skimmed the book's first chapter.

 _-theory behind defensive magic-tried and true techniques-the moral implications of spellcraft-_

"So, much ado about nothing, then," he muttered.

 _"Hem hem."_

He looked up. Umbridge was looking straight at him.

"Am I boring you, Mr. Potter?"

He shut the book and leaned back in the chair. "Not at all, Professor."

"I must be mistaken, then, because you didn't seem to be paying attention."

 _Lie or stay quiet?_ he thought. _Decisions, decisions…_

Umbridge made the choice for him. "Please repeat what I said before I called on you," she said, somehow sounding stern through her sickly sweet tones.

"I wasn't listening," he admitted.

"So you lied before."

"I apologise," he said flatly.

"Just as you've been lying for months."

He opened his mouth to respond, but Ron kicked him under the table. He tapped a new roll of parchment with his quill. Scribbled at the top was one word: _don't._

So Harry stayed silent.

"You have demonstrated reckless, selfish behaviour," Umbridge said, slowly approaching. "I will not tolerate disruptions in my class. I think a detention is in order. See me in my office tonight at eight."

"I can't Professor," he said. "I have detention with Professor Snape at eight."

Umbridge looked at him with a mixture of glee and anger. "Tomorrow then. For now, pay attention, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, Professor."

~~oOo~~

As it was nearing eight, Harry couldn't help but grow nervous. They were set on not going to Snape's detention, both to pull the man's strings and see how far they could push him. Still, defying Snape always had consequences. Harry tried to sit down with one of the books he'd taken from Grimmauld Place, but decided he probably shouldn't study volumes full of Dark magic in front of other students. Staying in the dorm wasn't an option – he wasn't in the mood to answer his roommates' questions – so he and Ron settled down in the Common Room for a game of chess. Ron beat him swiftly twice and he was well on the way to winning again.

"Check."

Harry scrutinised the battlefield. Ron was slowly surrounding his king. "Rook to d-four."

The rook charged one of Ron's bishops at full-speed, shattering it into several pieces. Harry looked at his watch.

"Stop doing that," Ron hissed at him. "Knight to d-four."

His remaining rook joined joined the broken bishop among other scattered casualties.

"Doing what?"

"Checking the time. Rook to g-one. Check."

Harry racked his brain for an escape path, but the king was cornered and he had no piece in position to protect it. He was losing anyway. He toppled the king and the remaining pieces waved their tiny fists at him, protesting an early surrender.

"I can't sit here," Harry said. "Grab your jacket. We're going to Hagrid's."

"It's getting late, though."

"Curfew isn't for a while and we'll take the Cloak. Let's go."

Ron reset the chessboard and followed without protest. Harry stuffed the Cloak into a large pocket – he didn't know if it was a magical property, but the Cloak always seemed to fit in pockets, though only barely.

They were halfway down to the Entrance Hall when someone stopped them on the fourth floor.

"Detention on day one. Well played."

"We've only done it twice. It's harder than you think."

"Although we never had two at the same time."

"Fred. George. How are you guys?"

"Oh, just out for a walk," said one of the twins. "As you do."

"Right," said Ron. "Slytherin has quidditch tryouts tomorrow and you're wearing cloaks, so you were in the dungeons or outside."

"And you're going outside," observed the other twin.

"Alas, some clever devil disabled the fireworks we had installed at the Slytherins' front door to wish them a fruitful semester. We thought we could leave some more in their locker room. They do like quidditch, Slytherins."

"We're going to see Hagrid," said Harry. "Wanna come along?"

The twins' eyes widened as they shared a look.

"Not that we haven't skipped detention before…"

"But that was Filch."

Harry bared his teeth in a bold grin. "There's always the first time."

"They don't have their OWLs yet, Fred."

"There's bound to be werewolves about. Someone should watch over the boys."

"Yeah, whatever. Let's get moving before we run into a giant angry bat," said Ron.

Harry kept nervously glancing at his watch as they crossed the silent Entrance Hall. Few students roamed the castle at this hour. Fewer still left it an hour before curfew. He wasn't worried about getting back inside. There were several hidden doors that Filch rarely closed for the night, seeing as hardly anyone knew about them.

They slipped out through the front gates into the courtyard, empty save for an owl perched upon one of the low walls.

"Why, if it isn't Potter. Are you walking your Weasleys? I've heard they need lots of exercise."

Malfoy approached from across the courtyard, flanked by Nott and several older Slytherins. Most drew their wands, but Malfoy and Nott were relaxed. The owl beat its wings in indignation at being disturbed and flew off.

"Regrettably, I don't have a witty retort for you," Harry said, nonetheless sneaking his hand towards his wand, "so why don't you just move out of our way."

Malfoy tilted his head. "Aren't you and Weasley – pardon, I meant Weasel, specifically – supposed to be in detention right about now? Trust me, you don't want to make Snape wait for you."

"I trust you about as far as I can kick you," Harry shot back. "Move, before _I_ move _you."_

Malfoy's demeanor changed in a blink of an eye. "Careful, Potter," he said in low tones, "at some point jokes come to an end."

Harry walked up to Malfoy and looked at him with a dangerous smile. "You had the numbers last time too. It didn't end well for you then. What makes you think you can take us now?"

Harry had his wand in his sleeve, but at this distance Nott's wand was on his throat by the time he pointed his at Malfoy. Then Nott's wand flew out of his hand.

"You just can't help yourself, can you, Harry?"

The new arrival stepped out of the shadow, a wand in each hand. Harry smiled at her.

"Hello, Hermione."


	14. CHAPTER FOUR: Momentum, Part 3

**CHAPTER FOUR: Momentum**

 **Part 3**

"And here I was hoping you had realised you don't belong here," said Malfoy. "I was just about to ask Potter about you."

"Ask me anything you want, Malfoy," said Hermione. "I'll gladly answer all your questions."

With Malfoy and Nott focused on Hermione, Harry crossed his wand with Malfoy's knocking it to the side. Malfoy held onto it, but was too slow to react before Harry pushed him back into the other Slytherins.

A spell erupted right in front of his face, but dissipated without harming him. He felt magic whoosh past his ears towards Malfoy's escort and flicked his own wand - the Banishing Charm scattered the Slytherins across the courtyard.

"Harry!"

He paid Hermione's warning no attention, aiming his next spell precisely, but Malfoy, in a display of speed, deflected it towards the stonework. Harry blocked an incoming hex flying from his flank, but the force made him stumble sideways. Again, someone else's shield protected him from the attack that followed it.

Slytherins used their small advantage in numbers to quickly regroup and launch a concentrated strike that won Nott his wand back. A flurry of spells rushed towards Harry at the forefront of the group of Gryffindors, spelling a certain defeat. With a single lightning-fast thought, acting more on instinct than consciously, he conjured a shield of his own. The magical backlash swept the other Gryffindors off their feet, but Harry wasn't done.

 _"Tonare!"_

The bludgeoner landed in the middle of Malfoy's group, hitting those too slow with their defence. Malfoy, Nott and one other remained standing. Then Ron was at Harry's side, growling an incantation. Nott swatted the spell aside.

"Enough!" Malfoy barked out an order and his housemates, only now picking themselves off the ground, froze with their wands half-raised.

"Malfoy, you're not the boss of me," said one of them.

"Shut up," Malfoy said, without sparing him a glance. "Well, Potter. You must have been _itching_ for a fight."

Hermione pushed Ron aside and whispered in Harry's ear, _"What were you thinking?"_

"I made a quick decision," he said. "Malfoy's hiding something. We can-"

"Everyone's hiding something!" Hermione countered, gripping his wand arm.

"I don't get why you're defending-"

A slap echoed loudly in the courtyard, snapping his head to the side. Then he felt his cheek burning. He looked back at Hermione, meeting glistening eyes and a face reddened from the chill.

"Don't you dare," she hissed.

Seeing this, Slytherins reacted with laughter, though their wands remained firmly trained on their targets.

"Trouble in paradise, Scarhead?" Malfoy taunted.

"I'm not done with you," Harry snarled. "Wait for your turn."

"No more turns," Hermione whispered. "We're in trouble anyway. You didn't think I'd find out what happened on the train?"

"I must admit, I didn't think the mudblood had such a fiery temper," Malfoy said loudly, "what with her perfect grades and her scholarly trophies…"

Harry shifted the hold on his wand, angling it towards Malfoy, yearning to curse him again.

"You must have a death wish, ferret."

Malfoy's demeanor changed again. "You just have to have the last word, don't you, Potter?"

Hermione's fingers closed around his wrist in an iron grip. Harry glanced down, then back up at her.

"He said-" she began, but paused to swallow. "He… oh God, _it was him."_ She turned to face Malfoy. _"You_ did it."

Harry could hardly discern what happened immediately after Hermione's declaration. The battle erupted anew, lighting the courtyard with sizzling spellfire. He slipped through the chaos to the Slytherins' flank, but Malfoy wasn't there. Harry lashed out with a chain of stunners and jinxes, but Malfoy wasn't hiding behind his housemates either. In short order the Slytherins were disarmed or unconscious – except for Malfoy.

"Where is he?" he growled. "Malfoy, _where the fuck are you?"_

"Harry Potter!" a thunderous voice rumbled over the courtyard.

Harry turned on his heel, wand going up – he was aiming at Dumbledore. The Headmaster descended the steps, his own wand down by his side, turquoise robes billowing in the cold wind.

"You were warned against attacking other students, Mr. Potter."

"They attacked us!" Ron protested. "They cast the first spell!"

"I'm sure each side has their own version of events," Dumbledore said. "I shall not vindicate anyone for dueling. Perhaps a week's detention is in order for each of you."

"Professor, _Malfoy-"_

"Don't try my patience, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore interrupted him and waved his wand, dispelling the various magical effects on Slytherins. "If Mr. Malfoy was involved, be assured he will be in detention as well."

"Professor, you're not listening," Harry urged. "Hermione accused him and he _ran."_

"Professor, I don't know what Potter's blathering about, but-"

"Be silent, Mr. Higgs." Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger?"

Harry silently thanked the higher powers for Dumbledore's inexplicable instinct. It seemed the man needed just a glance from Hermione to somehow understand that the situation went beyond an ordinary fight.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley… please escort Miss Granger to my office," Dumbledore said in a grave tone. "I shall join you shortly."

Without another word, Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and lead her inside the castle, Ron following a few steps behind. The entrance gate closed with a reverberating thud as soon as they stepped inside the Entrance Hall. Harry glanced back towards the giant doors when he felt an overwhelming wave of magic pouring through it, reaching deep inside Hogwarts.

"What was that?" Ron whispered with nervous reverence.

"I have no idea," Harry muttered. "Hermione… Malfoy said something about trophies – what did he mean? You turned on him right after."

Hermione swept her wand over her coat, removing the dust from destroyed stonework. "My awards from school – from before Hogwarts. I've never told anyone about them." She spoke quietly, looking down at her feet. "He couldn't have known, unless... he saw them in my room. I- I need to sit down."

Harry knew he shouldn't let her stop, they could do this in Dumbledore's office and they didn't need more complications if another teacher found them…

Hermione collapsed, back against the railing. She was taking shallow, shuddering breaths, still squeezing his hand.

The gates opened again, just enough for a person to fit in the gap, and a procession of Slytherins came through. They marched in a line, strangely docile, not saying a word, looking straight ahead. They crossed the Entrance Hall at a brisk pace and disappeared into the dungeons. They were shortly followed by Fred and George. The twins passed them by without sparing a single glance, but Harry noticed their absent, glassy stares.

"What the hell…?" Ron muttered.

Harry remembered seeing that look before. "Memory Charm. Dumbledore must have done it."

Ron's eyes widened in sudden outrage. "But why Fred and George too?"

"We all have to make sacrifices," said Dumbledore, suddenly standing a few steps below them on the staircase.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't like this," Ron said with a hint of rebelliousness.

"As involved as your brothers are, the three of you are in a singularly unique position," said the Headmaster. He extended his arm. "Hold on."

Dumbledore apparated them to his office and conjured three high-backed chairs in front of his desk.

"I understand your apprehension, Ronald. I only altered their memory of tonight's confrontation. They will remember roaming the castle instead."

"It seems we've got the proof we needed," Harry said. "Only now Malfoy's gone."

Dumbledore raised a hand. "Before we address this development, I must first ask you to promise me that you will not speak of tonight's events with anyone outside your group."

"What if someone asks us how we know for certain that Malfoy… is responsible?" Hermione asked.

"Say that you can't tell them."

Harry was sceptical. "It's that easy?"

Dumbledore leaned over the desk, his fingers forming a series of steep arches. "Yes. It is that easy."

"No one will buy that," Ron protested. "I know I wouldn't."

"And yet, they will have to accept it. Everyone keeps secrets, especially in these times. This one will be ours."

Hermione looked down at her lap, nervously playing with her wand, then back at Dumbledore. "Just this once, Professor."

"Alright," said Harry. "It's not that important, anyway. Malfoy-"

"Not that important?" Ron exclaimed. "My brothers just got their brains messed with!"

"You know that's not what I meant- Malfoy is gone, Ron! This _is_ more important!"

"Please." Dumbledore raised a hand. Ron squirmed under his gaze. "Your word, Ronald."

"Fine!" Ron jumped from the chair and threw up his arms. "You have my word, I won't tell anyone anything."

"What are we going to do about Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Thanks to your efforts, we now have allies in the Ministry, though their support is tentative," said Dumbledore. "I shall send a message to Sirius. Perhaps Rufus Scrimgeour will agree to keep an ear to the ground. I apologise for not being able to do more, Hermione, but we cannot risk compromising the Order."

"He _ran,"_ Harry said, planting his palm on the desk with a snap. "It's an admission of guilt. Can't Scrimgeour have him arrested?"

"Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Lucius Malfoy is in a favourable position with the Minister and he will fight for his son. Moreover, the Ministry has only just taken interest in the case, and only because of the late Hestia Jones."

"Of course," Harry said with a bitter laugh. "She was an Auror. That's why they care at all."

Dumbledore seemed to agree, though he didn't comment on it. "If I may… it would be helpful to know what convinced you of Mr. Malfoy's guilt."

As Hermione told the Headmaster about the trophies, Harry thought back to the fight in the courtyard. How could Malfoy have disappeared so quickly? One moment he was there, casting spells, and gone the next.

 _I didn't even see him leave._

An annoying voice in his head claimed, _maybe there's a brain behind his big mouth,_ , but Harry quashed it. Malfoy was a murderer and coward. He didn't deserve to be called anything else.

They sneaked through the dark, empty halls back to the Gryffindor Tower in silence. There was so much to talk about, but none of them seemed willing to be the first to speak. He and Ron reluctantly parted with Hermione in the common room. Later, lying in his bed, Harry could have sworn Malfoy's face was staring at him from the ceiling, wearing the familiar arrogant smirk.

~~oOo~~

It was long past midnight when the Mark burned him. He hadn't been sleeping – there was no use going to bed when he was going to be interrupted. The summons rarely came when expected, but this time, there was no surprise.

He had mixed himself a calming tonic while waiting, then sat down in front of the fireplace. A chance to prepare before facing the Dark Lord was a rare luxury. Dumbledore interrupted him, coming in with questions, but he'd rehearsed his answers.

"Yes, I'm aware that _something_ happened, Headmaster," he said. "Potter and Weasley have failed to present themselves for detention. Not long after that, a group of my Slytherins returned to their dormitories bearing the signs of memory alteration. And, of course, Draco Malfoy seems to have vanished. I expect to be summoned tonight. The Dark Lord will want to corroborate whatever the boy tells him."

"Draco Malfoy made a mistake," said Dumbledore. "Voldemort is certain to be displeased with that blunder."

"If I may ask, if you're going after Malfoy openly… why spare Nott?"

Dumbledore was an infuriatingly hard man to read.

"As muggles say, never put all your eggs in one basket. Good night, Severus."

 _I am not at all surprised,_ Snape thought.

The Mark awoke, searing his skin. He closed a fist around the medallion resting on his right palm and allowed the Portkey to whisk him away from Hogwarts, right through the castle's wards and to an empty, dilapidated boathouse. He followed the cobblestone path that ran along a wildly overgrown hedge. He walked with a deliberate slowness, capturing the last few moments of meditation.

Unlike the estate's grounds, the stone and brick mansion atop the hill had been meticulously restored to the glory of past decades. A proper pureblood household, it was illuminated by soft-glowing lanterns and decorated with crawling vines and sturdy English masonry. Were it not for the tall, blade-topped gate, an artwork of twisted metal, it would look inviting. The gate anticipated him, opening just in time to let him through and closing as soon as he passed it.

He stopped briefly in the foyer to let his eyes adjust to the light.

"You got here fast. I thought you'd be late."

Snape glared at Pettigrew, leaning casually against the wall.

The rat smiled. "Oh, fine. I lied. I _hoped_ you'd be late." He had his arms crossed, fingers of one hand tapping against the other arm. "I had half a mind to _delay_ you."

"Perhaps one of these days you'll become skilled enough to try," Snape drawled.

Pettigrew's smile only grew wider. "You've always been dismissive of others, Severus. Take care that your attitude does not condemn you."

He let the rat have the last word – he was inconsequential – and made his way upstairs. He heard the gathering from down the hall before he saw it. He held back a grimace of disgust – he was not looking forward to an evening with his… comrades.

"Ah, Severus." The Dark Lord was the first to notice him, the others busy talking over each other and pouring wine. "Come. Sit."

His arrival silenced the room. This was no ordinary evening.

"How's Hogwarts treating you, Snape?" Mulciber asked from his seat at the Dark Lord's left hand. "I see you've still not found time to wash your hair."

Snape's lip twitched when the table erupted with raucous laughter. Greyback slammed his cup down, rattling plates in the near vicinity.

 _A band of buffoons._

"Please, my friends," said the Dark Lord and the ruckus immediately died down. "We have an important matter to address. Severus, if you would…"

Snape sat down at the far end, as far away from Mulciber as possible. "My Lord, it seems one of our junior members has failed to keep his mouth shut."

"Watch _your_ mouth," Lucius sputtered, knocking over his wine flute. "That's my son you're-"

"And he is as poor a spy as yourself," Snape retorted bitingly.

"He's got a point, Lucius," said Mulciber. "You couldn't ask for the time without looking suspicious."

Lucius swallowed the round of laughter at his expense with as much dignity as he could muster in his inebriated state and turned to face Mulciber, his usually stoic features askew in an expression of disgust. "Jumped-up dog…"

Mulciber's face twisted into something ugly for a brief moment. "You're drunk, Lucius. Best you keep silent."

"Gentlemen," Voldemort interrupted. "Enough. I would rather not reprimand you a third time."

Gazes of everyone present scattered as they looked everywhere but at the Dark Lord, all except one. Mulciber's eyes remained firmly fixed on Lucius before he relaxed.

The Dark Lord gestured with his hand and a glass of wine slid down the length of table to Snape. "Severus – tell us what happened tonight."

Snape sipped from the glass – it wouldn't do to outright refuse the drink – and leaned comfortably over the table, hands joined. "I was expecting Potter and the youngest Weasley boy-"

"Hmm. Did you put them... in detention?" Greyback muttered drunkenly. "How _dastardly_ of you."

Another round of laughter burst forth. Snape noticed the Dark Lord's eyes narrow momentarily and then a blindingly fast wand spewed a spell at the werewolf. Greyback grunted in pain as his chair jumped away from the table, his head snapping back and hitting the wall.

"Mhm... Apologies, my Lord," he said over a quiet growl, rubbing the back of his skull.

"Severus, continue."

Snape cleared his throat. "Potter and Weasley didn't come. Later, I came across a group of Slytherins, Theodore Nott among them, returning to their dormitories. Dumbledore used Memory Charms."

"Young Malfoy wasn't with them?" the Dark Lord asked.

"From what I'd gathered, he was already gone by then."

"What else?"

"Five Gryffindor students took part in the confrontation. I was able to overhear Dumbledore talking to Potter and his two friends. Those three were the only ones who kept their memory of the events."

"How many Slytherins?"

"Eight, including Malfoy."

"Eight…" The Dark Lord appeared intrigued. "Potter's progress is fascinating. Jervis – what is your assessment?"

"From what little I've seen from Potter, he's got potential, and the drive to make the best of it."

The Dark Lord's gaze slid over to Lucius, who flinched, but did not look away. "I think it's time to call the key witness." He waved a hand at the double doors at the far end of the room and they flew open, stopping just short of slamming into the wall.

"Draco," the Dark Lord said. "Come in."

All eyes were on the boy as he slowly approached the table, head bowed.

"Sit down."

Draco took the nearest empty chair, opposite the Dark Lord, next to Snape.

"My Lord," he mumbled.

"Pardon? I didn't hear you."

There was the barest hint of mockery on the Dark Lord's face and for a fleeting moment, Snape found himself longing to the days of his youth, a simpler time, when he could enjoy the company of the wizards around him and not think twice about it. Those days were irreversably lost.

"My Lord," the boy repeated.

A derisive snort came from the other end of the table. In the corner of his vision, Snape caught Mulciber smiling behind his glass.

"That's unbecoming of you, Jervis," the Dark Lord reprimanded, though there was more amusement than malice in that statement.

"Apologies, my Lord," Mulciber said, without taking his eyes off Draco, "but I can't help feeling disappointed in my pupil. I taught him better than that."

"Perhaps you're not a very good teacher," Lucius interjected.

"And perhaps your son is not a very good student," said the Dark Lord. "What did you say that convinced the girl of your guilt?"

Draco glanced at him, as if looking for guidance or support, but Snape merely stared back.

"I referenced something I could have only seen in her home," the boy said. "I apologise, my Lord. I should have kept my tongue on a leash."

"Yes, you should have," said the Dark Lord, lip twitching. "Tell me, has your father ever told you about these gatherings? How I would punish for mistakes?"

The boy swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

"Whatever he told you… was most likely exaggerated. He does love to embellish his tales – don't you Lucius?"

Draco smiled nervously, reluctant to join in with the round of laughter the Dark Lord had prompted. Snape himself didn't participate either. He wasn't nearly intoxicated enough to even try to enjoy this.

"Don't think you're yet forgiven, Draco. You've made a costly mistake. You've made yourself a target and put Theodore in a precarious position. Do you understand?"

When the boy spoke this time, Snape could barely hear him.

"Yes… my Lord."

"At least you understand that," said the Dark Lord, waving him off dismissively. "Now leave. You haven't earned the right to dine in our fine company."

"Shall I have the desserts brought in, my Lord?" Mulciber asked.

"More wine!" Greyback thundered among the cheering.

"Father..."

Lucius likewise dismissed his son with a gesture. "Leave, Draco. I'll deal with you later."

Mulciber clapped his hands twice and a pair of house elves appeared, swiftly cleaning up the empty dinner plates and replacing them with a selection of pastries and a full flagon of wine.

"Won't you join us, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Unfortunately, no, to my regret," Snape said. "I'd rather not focus more suspicion on myself than necessary."

"Of course. A pity. On a weekend, perhaps."

"Perhaps. Enjoy the night, my Lord."

The Dark Lord smiled. Though his features had grown less snakelike since Snape had last seen him, it was still eerie to behold.

"Thank you, Severus. I shall."

~~oOo~~

September went by quickly in a flurry of classes, dotted with passive-aggressive confrontations with Slytherins, now led by Theodore Nott. The relatively unknown fifth-year skillfully filled the void left in the wake of Malfoy's escape. Malfoy himself had become a suspicious figure, spoken of only in whispers in remote hallways. After more than a month, the Auror Office had still issued no arrest warrant, maintaining that Malfoy was a person of interest in the deaths of Hestia Jones and the Grangers, but not a suspect.

Harry couldn't understand why Hermione wasn't bothered by it.

"We've talked about this, Harry. Again and again. I'm sure they'll arrest him once he's questioned."

"It's been a month and we're talking about _Malfoy,"_ he said with exasperation, somewhat irritated that he was the one convincing _her._. "Scrimgeour is sitting on his hands when he should have searched Malfoy Manor weeks ago."

"He did search it," Hermione replied.

Harry snorted. "He knocked on the door and politely asked if Malfoy was there."

"Harry, enough. Debating this over and over won't change anything. We should focus on things that are within our power to influence."

Thus ended any attempt at discussion. Even Ron gave up eventually. Ginny, on the other hand, didn't let them forget about it.

"The way she's acting, it's _not normal,"_ she insisted.

"Look, I'm just glad she's not crying anymore," Ron said.

Ginny punched him in the shoulder. "How tactful of you, you arse."

"What? She's not even here- ow!"

In time, they seemed to fall back into the usual school routine, but outside of class, everything was different now. They were closer than before, but between classes and regular sessions with Moody and Sirius, Harry noticed that they sought out solitude more than they used to. Ginny, naturally, had other friends. Ron could often be found in Fred and George's company. Hermione disappeared for long stretches, hours at a time – Harry couldn't even find her with the Marauder's Map, as if each time she went somewhere different and slipped his notice.

He himself devoted more time to the library than he ever had before, explaining it away as private studies. That was another thing he noticed – they made up excuses, sometimes simply said nothing, and never the whole truth. Everyone keeps secrets, Dumbledore had said, especially in these times. His words were being proved true every day.

Harry didn't pry for answers and neither did they. He trusted them, but he'd rather his 'private studies' remained a mystery. The one mystery he would very much like resolved, however, were horcruxes.

He'd encountered the word several times, spoken and written, in Voldemort's memories. It seemed random, no two situations he'd remembered it from were similar. Summer had been a chaotic time, he had pushed details aside in favour of easily assimilated information. It wasn't until he settled back in at Hogwarts that he realised the theme most of these encounters had had in common.

Horcruxes, whatever they were, constituted a connection between Voldemort and Grindelwald. The one vague reference he'd found in _Wiles of Shadow,_ , an aged tome smuggled from Grimmauld Place, referred to horcruxes as soul-jars. He dived into the depths of the Hogwarts library, scouring tomes of old rituals, treatises on hypotheticals of soul magic and alchemy, but none of them referenced soul-jars or horcruxes. He blitzed through almost a dozen of various Grindelwald biographies, both officially published and those considered less reputable, but it was in vain. Horcruxes stubbornly remained an unsolved puzzle.

It was one such late afternoon at the library. A nearby window captured the last fleeting vestiges of summer. He leaned back, stretching, and yawned. A glance at the watch told him he'd been in the library for three hours already, paging through yet another tome – _Alchemical Forms of Dark Arts._ It had seemed to carry some promise, but ultimately led him nowhere. He opened _Wiles of Shadow_ where he had bookmarked it and tapped his quill against the title page of a chapter.

Opposite the title page was an old poem, translated – as the author claimed – from a dead Eastern European dialect, transcribed in a decorative script: _Silverfeather Crown._ In a moment of boredom, he had scribbled a crooked crown above the title. It was strange – he was convinced this fictional piece of headwear was somehow significant, though his reason for that certainty was questionable at best.

He traced the tip of his quill on the cursive letters, then his drawing. He stifled another yawn, his head dipped lower, the quill fell from his fingers. He could close his eyes for just a moment...

~~oOo~~

Tom admired the richly decorated chamber. Like most things, he had little practical use for jewellry or artwork – such things were simply _unnecessary_ when one had magic at their disposal. And like most material things, he appreciated them for comfort and pleasure. After all, magic, for all its splendour, wasn't a goal, but a means to an end. Why pursue any goals if one didn't enjoy the spoils of one's efforts?

One of the many former staff offices, the room was adorned with meticulously selected paintings and sculptures – many of them stolen or 'repossessed' from museums – meant to both delight and overwhelm the visitor. The unspoken message was clear: you were standing in the heart of Lord Grindelwald's domain.

It had been years since a student walked the hallowed halls of Durmstrang.

The door opened and a woman walked in. No, not a woman – a phenomenon.

"Lady Caroline," Tom said, bowing his head.

She was one of Grindelwald's lieutenants, a witch known as much for her brilliant mind as her own brand of insanity. Some said one couldn't exist without the other.

"Tom Riddle, aren't you?" she asked.

Tom held back a grimace. He didn't like being called by his given name, but he could hardly introduce himself as Voldemort to Grindelwald's right hand. He couldn't be Voldemort as long as he was still known as Tom.

"Yes, milady. I appreciate your taking time to-"

"You're not the first young, talented wizard to seek an audience with Lord Grindelwald," she interrupted him. "Though the first from Hogwarts who got this far. Only I stand between you and him."

She sat down on a sofa and gently patted the seat next to her. Tom hesitated for a moment and reluctantly joined her.

 _I must not fall for her tricks,_ he reminded himself, keeping his eyes firmly above her neckline.

She smiled, baring her teeth. Pale skin stood in contrast against the black of her dress.

"You're very handsome," she purred, tracing a finger down his cheek. He resisted the urge to grab her wrist and wrestle it away from his face. "How old are you, Mr. Riddle?"

"Why are you asking?"

She leaned in and when she spoke, her breath tickled his ear. "Because I want to know – why else?"

He weighed his options. Loathe as he was to reveal anything, what harm was there in disclosing such an unimportant detail?

"Sixteen."

Caroline's smile faltered noticeably. "What a shame." She turned her head just enough for her lips to brush lightly against his neck. "You have an interesting smell."

Tom pointedly looked away, above her, at one of the paintings. It depicted a tall, willowy woman with dark hair reaching to her waist, standing in an enchanted garden. A raven sat on her arm and she wore a delicate circlet of silver. It had been shaped into a pair of wings reaching behind her temples.

"You have a keen eye, Tom," Caroline said. "Few appreciate this one."

"Who is she?"

Caroline stood up and walked up to the painting. "No one knows. The artist didn't ask for her name. But the person isn't what's intriguing about it. Come closer."

"Her crown…" Tom asked.

Caroline smiled again. "Yes – the Silverfeather Crown. An artifact as desirable as it is mysterious."

"Did it have any magical properties?"

Caroline smiled, assuming a pose similar to the Crown's wearer. "It was said to make the wearer incomparably wise. For that reason, I believe Lord Grindelwald would have little use for it." She returned to him and put an arm around his neck, pulling him too close for his liking. "Speaking of Lord Grindelwald – why do you really want to meet him?"

"My reasons are my own, milady."

"Tom… you're welcome to keep your reasons and go back where you came from. If you want to see him, I must know what they are."

He didn't hold out for long under her gaze.

"Soul magic," he whispered at last.

Caroline released him, crossing arms over her chest. "What interest does a mere student have in the most elusive of alchemical arts?"

Tom considered his answer carefully. "Longevity."

The clear, melodic laugh startled him, shattering the tranquil atmosphere of the room. "Longevity! Such a clever tongue. If you desire the Philosopher's Stone, my master can't help you."

"No, not the Stone," Tom said. "Horcrux."

The smile slid off Caroline's face like water. "Well… That is curious."

~~oOo~~

"-mr. Potter!"

Harry jumped in his seat, shaken awake from the vivid memory. Madam Pince hovered over him, her sharp eyes burrowing into his.

"The hour is late," said the stern-looking librarian. "You should return to your dormitory - _after_ you put everything back in place."

"Er, yes, of course, Madam Pince. I'll get right on that," he said, scurrying to clean up the table.

"What is this?" she demanded, pointing at _Wiles of Shadow._ "Browsing the Restricted Section without a permission slip-"

"It's not from the Restricted Section," he said, slamming the book shut and stuffing it into his bag. "That's mine."

The librarian's eyes narrowed as she scrutinised him. "I certainly hope so, Mr. Potter. Be on your way, now."

"But what about-"

"Thank you, I shall take care of it. Good night to you, Potter."

"Er, yes. Good night."

~~oOo~~

From his position in the booth at the far end of the lounge, Sirius saw everyone entering and exiting the establishment. The bar was filled to the brim with patrons. Remus slid into the seat next to him.

"He hasn't shown up yet?" Remus asked, positioning himself in a shadowed spot. "How long has it been?"

Sirius glanced at the table. "Roughly three beers. You're not having one?"

"No, thanks. Not the best time to drink for me."

"Right." Sirius downed the rest of his beer. "When?"

"Sunday."

"It's still a few days away."

"I'd rather not risk it."

"Have it your way," Sirius said. "Oh. Our friend has arrived."

Barty Crouch was the perfect image of a muggle, though he stood out in his smartly cut suit. Several of the patrons gave him unfriendly looks. Sirius smiled. To the muggles, Crouch probably looked like the high-strung boss they complained about to their friends.

Crouch located them quickly in the back booth and manoeuvred his way towards their table.

"Gentlemen," he said by way of greeting, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat down.

"Barty," said Sirius. Remus remained silent.

"What are you having?" Crouch asked.

Sirius raised the half-empty bottle. "Muggle beer. Fancy one yourself?"

Crouch knocked lightly on the table. "On second thought, I think I'll pass."

Sirius grinned at him. "So… How's work?"

The agreed upon exchange complete, the older wizard visibly relaxed and leaned back.

"I must say, I'm rather enjoying this," said Sirius. "Even if it's a bit paranoid."

"Paranoia keeps people like me alive, Mr. Black," said Crouch. "Have you any news?"

"Some. Most of it useless. Pettigrew periodically disappears and we can't track him until he pops up again somewhere else."

"An unplottable safehouse?"

Sirius shook his head. "If it were so, we would have nailed him by now."

Crouch put the pieces together quickly. "Fidelius."

"That's our best guess," Sirius agreed. "The implication is obvious."

"He's with… Voldemort."

"Yes. Each time to goes back to the lair we lose him, because there's no way to break through a Fidelius Charm and I'll bet my family's fortune that Voldemort's the Secret Keeper."

Crouch loosened his tie. "Any details could go a long way to narrowing down the search area."

"I _know_ that. I've tried every method possible without frying my brain. The Charm won't let me divulge anything. I barely remember what the place looked like anyway. Each time I think back to it, it gets more blurry."

"Is there a pattern to Pettigrew's movements?"

Sirius rubbed his forehead. "No. He jumps around and he's always gone in time to evade us. I don't think he knows we're tracking him though. I think it's just an operational habit."

"A habit that has so far kept him out of a cell, even with two talented, dedicated wizards on his trail."

Sirius tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "I never would have guessed you thought so highly of us. Would you be willing to put that in writing? I'm not looking for a job right now, but references are always good to have."

Crouch ignored his remark entirely. "Keep me appraised of any developments. Lucius Malfoy is sniffing around. If you get Pettigrew, we'll need to keep him out of Malfoy's reach until a move can be made."

"We'll worry about Peter. Just make sure everything is ready to go on your end," said Sirius.

"Certainly. Do you have an approximate time frame?"

"If the rat keeps doing what he's doing, we'll have him soon."

"Your turn." Remus leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. "We've been very forthcoming with our information. You're not living up to your side of the agreement."

Crouch wasn't intimidated. "Threatening me won't work, Lupin."

"If I wanted to threaten you, we wouldn't be talking here," Remus growled.

Sirius placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Forgive Remus," he said, looking back at Crouch. "The full moon's coming, always makes him cranky. He makes a good point though. You've been straight with us and it's appreciated, but you're not just representing yourself here. What's Scrimgeour been up to? What about Plateau? I read the paper. They haven't done shit about Draco Malfoy."

"I don't think everyone heard you, Black," said Crouch with a telling gesture towards the other patrons.

"And I think time has come for a real threat, Director," Sirius retorted. "Tell Scrimgeour to arrest Draco Malfoy, or I'll do everything in my power to make sure he never even sniffs the Minister's chair. And remind him that I have a lot more gold than he does."

Crouch didn't move and his face remained as calm as it had been the entire time. "Rufus doesn't respond well to threats."

"I don't expect him to smile when he does. I expect him to respond at all," said Sirius. "We must be off, but you stay. Have a drink. Think about what you're going to tell old Scrim."

Remus left first while Sirius finished his last beer. He placed the empty bottle on the table with more force than was necessary. He glanced at Remus' back and back at Crouch, smiling slyly. "He's already pissed. Do you really want to push a werewolf over the edge, Barty?"

He turned to leave, but Crouch grabbed his hand.

"What?" Sirius barked.

"Scrimgeour fulfilling his part of the agreement," Crouch whispered. "There's a well-founded rumour making rounds about Fudge's special unit within the Auror Office. Rufus has been up in arms about it."

"Fudge tries to run the Aurors, news at eleven. Try harder next time."

"That unit is coming to Hogwarts tomorrow to arrest Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore can handle himself," Sirius interrupted. "But thanks for the tip. I'll pass it on."

"You didn't let me finish," Crouch said. "Fudge wants to bring in Harry Potter as well."

Sirius froze. "When is it happening, exactly?"

"Fudge is playing this one close to the chest, but I wager he wants to do it when both targets are together at an easily reachable location."

Crouch stood up, buttoned his jacket and smoothed it out. "I'll talk to Rufus about the Malfoys. Whatever you do, Fudge can't get his hands on Potter. Lucius will be waiting. If Potter's arrested, I don't expect him to make it to the cell."

~~oOo~~

Harry watched with amusement as Ron piled his plate high with whatever he came upon within reach, missing with the fork half the time. Bleary eyed, he almost poured orange juice over a pile of pancakes, but Hermione stopped him in time. Ron had protested an early wake-up, but Hermione didn't want to have to rush to Herbology later.

"You can stop now, Ron," Hermione said with exasperation. "You've made your point. You don't like getting up early."

His deception discovered, Ron glared at Hermione and turned his attention to the food. Harry shook his head at their antics.

An owl landed next to them. Hermione paid it a knut for the delivery and shooed it away. She unrolled the Prophet, looked at the front page and promptly dropped it, staring at the headline, eyes wide, breath quickened.

"'Emione, wha'z it?" Ron asked.

Harry reached over and took the paper from her lap.

 _DRACO MALFOY SUSPECTED IN GRISLY MURDERS,_ the front page proclaimed, _LUCIUS MALFOY DEFENDS SON AGAINST "BASELESS ALLEGATIONS"_.

He quickly read the short accompanying article, including a short statement from the Auror Office, though not Scrimgeour directly.

"Hermione, don't- don't cry…"

Harry looked up. Her hands were shaking.

"That… _snake!"_ she said, gritting her teeth. "What does it say about Malfoy?"

"He-" Harry paused. "Which one?"

"Draco Malfoy!" Hermione snapped.

"Lucius still claims he's transferred to Durmstrang." It was a convenient excuse. Perhaps Malfoy really was in Durmstrang, perhaps not. Given Durmstrang's secrecy, Lucius could make his claim and no one was able to prove him wrong.

Harry cast a surreptitious glance towards the staff table. Dumbledore appeared to be reading something – a letter, or a note. He then rolled the parchment into a ball. A wisp of smoke rose from between his fingers and when he opened his hand, there was no sign of the parchment.

The Headmaster looked at him next. A small nod and a covert gesture, directing him to leave the Great Hall. Harry nodded back.

"Guys," he said, "I have to go. Dumbledore wants me for something."

"But we've got Herbology soon-"

"Ron, who cares about Herbology?" Hermione hissed, hitting his arm.

Ron blinked. "Wait- what?"

"I'll see you later."

Harry made his way outside and, not seeing Dumbledore anywhere, took to the stairs, leaping several at a time. Sure enough, he saw the Headmaster waiting for him on the usual way from the Entrance Hall to his office.

"Harry, you needn't have rushed."

"It seemed important, sir, with the note and-"

"Ah, I should have guessed you saw that."

"Is something going on, sir?"

Dumbledore winked at him. "There is always something going on. Today, I suspect, the goings on will be particularly exciting. You've seen the Prophet, I take it?"

"Well, the front page…"

"Yes, that's what I meant," Dumbledore said. "It's a frustrating matter, but this development is a step in the right direction, though I don't expect Mr. Malfoy to be actually arrested with any swiftness." He fumbled for something in his robes. "Lemon drop?"

With a shrug, Harry accepted the candy. "You seem to be in a good mod, sir."

"I am, in fact. Today will be a testament to the progress we've made."

"What kind of progress?"

Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "I received two messages this morning," he said. "One was from Sirius – they are close to capturing Peter."

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"The second message," Dumbledore continued, "came from one of our friends in the Auror Office. He's a new addition to our ranks. I believe you've met him. His name is Dellan Grayson."

 _Auror-in-training Grayson?_

"What was the message?" Harry asked.

"Minister Fudge is sending a crack team of Aurors to Hogwarts to arrest us, headed by Auror Captain Anton Robards."

Harry stopped walking while Dumbledore continued on. After a few paces, the Headmaster turned around to face him with a puzzled look.

"Harry?"

"Um, Professor, how exactly is that good news?"

"I don't recall saying it was."

"Then why are you so chipper?"

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Because all we need to do is not get arrested until Sirius and Remus conclude their hunt. Then, the tables turn."

Harry tried to reconcile Dumbledore's reasoning with the fact of Aurors on their way over to handcuff and lock them up.

"Why so grim, Harry? As I recall, you came close to resisting arrest yourself a few months ago."

He almost came out with 'that was different', but instead said, "Whatever you think is best, sir."

"That's the spirit! Now, while we wait, we could use a conversation topic. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

 _Horcruxes!_ the familiar annoying voice screamed at him. _What_ are _they?_

"Nothing comes to mind." In truth, he wanted nothing more than to ask about the enigmatic horcruxes. The woman from Voldemort's memory, Caroline, called it a form of alchemy. If anyone had answers, it would be a student of Nicholas Flamel, wouldn't it?

Dumbledore leveled a curious gaze at him. "You seem unconvinced of your own words."

He hesitated, and then-

"Have you heard of the Silverfeather Crown, Professor?"

The twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes brightened. "An old legend, though not without grains of truth scattered throughout."

"I actually heard about it… in the summer, if you know what I mean."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rode up, disappearing under the brim of his tiara. "During your nightly forays into Voldemort's mind? If he was searching for it, it would explain… _Most_ interesting. The context would be helpful."

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and drew his eyes up, towards the ceiling. There appeared to be no hidden arcane meaning in the stone arches of the hallway. He felt Dumbledore figuratively piercing him through with that _look,_ the one that made him feel guilty regardless of circumstances.

"Actually, I just used it to start off," he said and took a deep breath, which he then released through his nose. "This one thing keeps coming up. Voldemort went to Grindelwald to learn about it. I saw him dig through the entire Hogwarts library looking for information. I heard it when I took over his body. The latest instance was in a book I took from the Black collection, and there, it was tied to the Silverfeather Crown again."

He stood with his back to Dumbledore, now staring at the floor. "Horcrux."

A long pause, and-

"Are you _absolutely certain,"_ Dumbledore said, "that Voldemort sought out Grindelwald because of it?"

Harry turned around. "Absolutely certain? I can't say, but what I saw suggests it. I didn't see much from that period – those memories were among the best guarded."

All trace of humour was gone from Dumbledore's features. "My dear boy… If this is true, you may have just solved for me a riddle I've been tackling for fourteen years."

Before he could speak again, pain split his skull along the line of his scar. He couldn't scream. He couldn't breathe. His head was going to burst into a fountain of gore any second. He collapsed in silent agony, unable to make a sound.

 _—_ _steps, slow, measured, boots on porous stone—a cell, small, a cot inside, a pot and—brick chipped away, cracked, hidden in dark, but not from his eyes—fingers scrape at the mortar, it breaks—_

Locket.

The _locket._

Pain, pain, even more pain…

 _—_ _images, memories, fly past his vision, blurry, can't make them out—house, old—street, large, ugly building, children – hate them – it tastes of salt—_

...let it stop, please…

 _—_ _fortress, high, cold walls—not, not fortress – prison—old man, frail, on the edge of death – not dead enough—_

Grindelwald.

...and it stopped, the pain was gone and the scar fell asleep once more. Harry reached for the thread, grasped it, pulled, but it broke. The door closed again and he could breathe.

He gasped for air, hand pressed against the scar, wet with blood.

"Professor – he found something. A locket, I can't-"

"Calm down, Harry, collect your thoughts, Madam Pomfrey is on her way-"

"There's no time!" he exclaimed. "Professor, he just realised something, something of his is broken and he-" He paused for breath, still shaking. "He's going to kill Grindelwald."

Dumbledore only stared.

"He's going to Nurmengard _right now."_


	15. CHAPTER FIVE: War Horizon, Part 1

**CHAPTER FIVE: War Horizon**

 **Part 1**

"Harry, I need you to tell me something else – did you try to force your connection to Voldemort open again?"

Harry tried to convey with his stare alone that no, he didn't. The pulse-pounding headache receded at last and he was reminded of a similar situation. An image from his memory appeared briefly over Dumbledore's face. The friendly, worried features twisted by emotion, eyes hiding a strange hunger. It was gone as fast as a thought. Harry's fingers found his wand – a gesture that did not escape the Headmaster's notice.

"Harry, there's no need-"

"Last time we talked about this, you attacked me."

Dumbledore corrected his glasses. "No. Last time was in my office in this castle. The time before that was a regrettable mistake."

Harry stood up, back to the wall, eyes firmly on Dumbledore. "No, sir. I _didn't_ try opening it."

Dumbledore's deduction was quick and accurate. "Then what caused it to open? Something Voldemort saw or heard... Something that made him angry enough that his fury reached even you."

Harry lowered his wand, not noticing he still angled the tip in Dumbledore's direction.

"He found something in... I think it was a basement, or a dungeon," he said, tone guarded. "A necklace with a locket. It was hidden in the wall."

The Headmaster was pacing, eyes darting across the floor. "You're certain that object, the necklace, was what angered him?"

"Not precisely," Harry said. "There was something about it that was missing. I think... it used to be enchanted, or cursed maybe, but Voldemort found it empty of any magic." And before he could bite his tongue, he added, "Are _you_ certain you're not going to go mental again?"

Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked him in the eye. Harry flinched and turned his face away.

"You're in no danger from me, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Oh dear, I completely forgot. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." Harry wiped his hand on the robes. The scar had stopped bleeding. "Shouldn't we be doing something?"

Dumbledore gave a knowing smile. "We haven't been getting along well with Germans recently, but I nevertheless think they deserve some recognition."

Harry's wand-hand slacked by his side. "I never know what you mean when you say those things."

"The German Aurors, Harry. Nurmengard is well-defended and Voldemort doesn't yet have the troops to simply waltz inside. We have some time, though you are essentially right. We shouldn't be wasting any."

Perhaps it was because he was standing next to Dumbledore, or because Dumbledore had taught him to notice these things, but he felt his teeth vibrate slightly when a faint trace of magic passed through him. It seemed to stop where Dumbledore stood. It reverberated in the still air like a gong, even though no sound accompanied it.

"Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, anticipating his question. "She tells me our guests have arrived quite ahead of schedule."

Hogwarts was _talking_ to Dumbledore? Even in his thoughts the question sounded ridiculous, so Harry opted for something more presently relevant. "You mean the Aurors? They're here, in the castle?"

"Almost," the Headmaster replied. "Come along, Harry. I'm afraid we must flee."

"Can't we just talk to-" He stopped and thought of the greater picture. Would Fudge even agree to talk to them? "Alright. Do we have a plan, or are we improvising?"

Dumbledore winked at him. "The secret is confidence. Whatever mad scheme you hatch, always appear sure of what you're doing. It tends to confuse the enemy."

"So... there is no plan."

"There is _always_ a plan, Harry. Merely sometimes one has very little time in which to formulate it."

Harry decided to stop asking.

~~oOo~~

Robards stepped into the Floo first, followed by Dawlish and Yaxley. That last one in particular looked glad to no longer be part of Shacklebolt's 'special unit'. Apparently Black was off getting a tan in Egypt and the local authorities were being uncooperative.

Robards had little faith in Shacklebolt's claims, but the man was his superior – for now, at least. Fudge liked him and Scrimgeour would be hard-pressed to cook up a reason to replace an Auror like Shacklebolt. Robards silently cursed the Head Auror's luck every time he walked by his office. Robards had been Scrimgeour's second-in-command, though there had never been an official title. _He_ should have been made Head Auror and then Director when the old lion's ambition inevitably took him to the highest office. Instead, he was going to Hogwarts to arrest Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Bloody marvelous.

Fudge was an idiot if he really thought the Headmaster of Hogwarts would submit to an arrest. Dumbledore was a rare kind of man – a lawmaker, but above the law. Smearing someone in the press was a coward's weapon. Fudge would be brave in the Wizengamot until Dumbledore entered the room. Men like him were titans. Titans didn't fall easily.

And Potter? He was under Dumbledore's protection – just as unreachable. Umbridge had been lurking in Hogwarts for a month and hadn't been able to so much as get the kid in detention. Her reports (which Robards had covertly borrowed) spoke of defiance and treasonous rumour-mongering. Robards laughed when he saw her foot-long essays. So many words that amounted to nothing. Harry Potter was fifteen, for Merlin's sake! Was he that slippery, or Umbridge that incompetent?

Exiting the Floo in the Hogsmeade Post Office, he ducked under the low mantelpiece and strode past the bumbling clerk, who stared incredulously at the procession of Aurors coming through.

Outside, Robards went out to the middle of the alley and unshrunk his broom. His fingers ran along the shaft, finding a good grip. A standard-issue Cleansweep, middle of the range, fast enough to keep up with most commercial models. The Department had bought a few Nimbuses some months back, not to be used beyond special circumstances. Robards rather thought arresting Albus Dumbledore constituted such circumstances. He did his job well, whether he liked the assignment or not. Scrimgeour shut him down. Robards wasn't sure if the Director was simply defying Fudge or resigned about this operation.

Eleven of his underlings gathered around him, brooms in hand. Yaxley looked positively excited. Robards hoped it was the fresh air making him loopy. Yaxley hadn't had many opportunities to leave the Ministry lately.

"Mount up," Robards barked out the order. "We're doing a low approach over the lake, up to the gates, then straight to the castle. Yaxley, go higher over the school grounds. Potter might try to quidditch his way out – or not. Who the bloody hell knows."

Yaxley nodded, absently patting the belt where his wand sat in a holster. Robards held back a frown. Too eager.

"Dawlish." Robards turned to the tall, broad man. Dawlish was built like a brick house. Normally he'd be shadowing Fudge, but the Minister wanted this, as he'd put it, _elite veteran_ on the ground today. Robards sneered inwardly. _How's the mud, boot-licker?_

"Yes?" Dawlish asked reluctantly.

"Mind the brooms when we land."

There were a few scattered laughs. Robards had never made his dislike for Dawlish a secret. Shacklebolt was just as arrogant sometimes, but he had something to back it up with. Robards could respect that, at least. Arrogance came with wearing the red cloak. He himself wasn't free of it. Dawlish was a career Auror whose career had peaked when he became Fudge's bodyguard. Licking the wrong boots, so to speak.

He swung his leg over the Cleansweep and kicked off, banking hard when the alley met the High Street. The others fell into formation behind him as he sped over the surprised locals.

He spared a glance at the eerily quiet Shrieking Shack when they passed the hill where it stood. The ground rose gently, then there was a steep drop, straight into the Black Lake. Robards angled the broom towards the centre and accelerated to a comfortable cruising speed.

Flying not ten feet above the surface, he instinctively reached for the wand when something big and dark appeared in the water below. The shadow kept pace with him for a few seconds before diving back into the depths. Robards raised a curious eyebrow. He had no idea Doug could swim so fast. _Huh. He's a magical squid, I suppose._

They reached the opposite shore in about a minute. To his right, the rocky beach disappeared into a mass of thick fog. Robards made a wide turn, speeding along the border of the Forbidden Forest. Once or twice he thought he'd spotted a swift shadow among the trees. Thestrals, most likely.

The Forest thinned gradually, finally giving way to the grassy slope of the school grounds. The fog had gathered here too. Robards rose a few more feet and glanced behind to make sure the others had mimicked him.

They were approaching the gates fast. Robards dug into his robes and held up the arrest warrant, adorned with the Minister's personal seal and signed by Scrimgeour. Rufus had been none too happy when he presented him with the document last night.

"By gods, Cornelius is an idiot," he said with a heavy sigh.

Robards agreed, though he wouldn't say that out loud, not with Dawlish in the room. Rufus held no such scruples.

The winged boar guardians flopped their bat-wings, recognising the Ministerial seal and the gates started to open. Without slowing down, Robards shot through the widening gap, heading towards the castle over the muddy road. He turned his head and saw Yaxley arch away from the formation at a steep angle. He quickly became a dot up in the sky, scanning the grounds for fast fliers. Robards hoped it would keep him occupied. Yaxley was a brute and Robards had no need for one in a school full of kids.

He slowed down as they neared the main courtyard. The castle grew larger and higher before their eyes. Robards headed straight for the Entrance Hall as he hopped off the broom. The few students miling about scattered out of his way.

Wand-hand down by his side, the other clutching the warrant, he made it as far as the stairs before coming to a halt, confronted with Minerva McGonagall's rigid authority. He hated that she still held that over him thirty years later.

"Mr. Robards," she said succinctly. "Would you please explain why in Merlin's name there's an Auror company storming Hogwarts?"

"Nice to see you too, Professor," he said, holding up his Ministry-approved scroll of parchment. "Dumbledore and Potter are under arrest. Let's not make a scene."

McGonagall's stern gaze swept over the Aurors behind him. Students were beginning to gather in the Great Hall's doors and the entrance to the dungeons.

"I would rather say you've managed that all on your own," said McGonagall.

"Professor," Robards said quietly, his jaw set under a layer of fake politeness. "I'm under orders. Where can I find the Headmaster and the student Harry Potter?"

"The Headmaster has been called away on a personal matter and Mr. Potter-"

"Do I even need to spell out how mighty suspicious that is? What about Potter, then? Has he been called away as well?"

"Not quite, though he's also not presently at Hogwarts," McGonagall said. "Mr. Potter was found experimenting with an obscure spellbook. He's been taken to St. Mungo's. His injury was deemed too severe to stay in the infirmary here."

Robards wanted to punch something. Of course it would be like this. "Dumbledore didn't happen to be escorting Potter to London?"

"Mr. Potter was accompanied by Professor Flitwick. I believe he has just returned."

"That's great," Robards said. "Still, I have to do my due diligence. Ribs, take your squad to the Headmaster's office. Search the school. If Dumbledore's in the castle, find him."

It sounded almost comical. Both Robards and Ribs knew it was a largely meaningless order, but Ribs merely nodded, then gestured for his team to follow. For all they knew, Dumbledore could be enjoying a cup of tea in the corner right now, watching them. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be.

"Shins, I'm sure Professor McGonagall will take your team to Potter's room in the Gryffindor tower if you ask nicely. Tear it apart if you have to."

McGonagall looked like she wanted to protest, but Robards beat her to it.

"Sorry, Professor, but you see, I have this document here..." He gave the scroll a good shake in front of her face. "...which gives me the authority to do that. And – you, whatever your name is – talk to the students, ask about Potter. You can start over there," he added, pointing towards the Great Hall. "Professor, if you would be so kind to fire up a Floo connection for me. I need to swing by St. Mungo's."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes in an expression of disapproval, but her wand shot out to the side and one of the four enormous fireplaces decorating the Entrance Hall came alive with flames. Robards walked briskly towards it, grabbing a pinch of the powder from a pouch on his belt. Standard issue.

He flicked the powder into the fire and it whooshed into a bright green of the Floo-flames. "St. Mungo's hospital," he said clearly.

The Floo spit him out in the main lobby. Growing impatient, he shoved and elbowed his way to the reception desk, slapped the warrant down in front of a frazzled young witch and growled out three words.

"Harry Potter. Where?"

The reception witch swallowed, glanced quickly at the giant tome next to her and whimpered, "Room one-fifteen, Spell Damage Ward."

The crowd parted before Robards as he made his way to the lifts. He stepped into the first available one. A wizard with a haphazardly bandaged leg was already inside, leaning on a walking stick. "I'll take the next one," he said, backing out of the lift and hobbled away.

Robards jabbed a button for the correct floor with his wand and seethed quietly while the lift took an eternity to get him there.

When the doors finally opened, he stalked through the pristine hallway, glaring at the room numbers. He found his target easily enough, but someone grabbed his wrist when he laid a hand on the doorknob.

"What do you think you're doing?" the man demanded. "This is a _hospital."_

"And I don't give a rat's arse," Robards snapped angrily. "I'm looking for Harry Potter. He's under arrest."

"Arrest?" The man shook his head. "Preposterous. He's in no condition to be taken to a holding cell."

"Who the hell are you?" Robards asked.

"I'm Healer Grayson. Who the hell are _you?"_

"Auror Captain Anton Robards. Is Potter in there?"

Grayson released his hand. "See for yourself. Just don't try anything, or I'll knock you out, Auror Captain or not. I won't have my patients disturbed."

At last, Robards opened the door and stormed inside. He tore open the blinds around the only bed. There, half-naked, unconscious and paler than a Malfoy, lay Harry Potter.

~~oOo~~

"So there _was_ a plan."

"There always is, Harry."

"You know what I meant, Professor."

"But of course I do. And yes, I had a contingency prepared."

They exited the hospital through a service door which lead to a back alley, of the kind that was plentiful in London. The trash container was overflowing, a few plastic bags were strewn about. Harry screwed up his nose at the smell.

Dumbledore ran his wand past himself, from neck to waist, shedding his disguise. The auburn hair turned back to its usual dull silver and the old-fashioned brown suit unfurled into a blue-and-gray robe. Finally, the hat popped into view.

"Much better. That jacket is terribly itchy." Dumbledore turned to face him. "Quite sensible of you to bring the Cloak."

Harry realised that he was, in fact, still wearing it. He folded it as best he could and placed it in his bag.

"I've been carrying it with me, just in case."

"A-ha. Has there... been a case?"

Harry couldn't tell if there was a hint of scorn or curiosity in the Headmaster's voice.

"Once or twice." No point in lying. Dumbledore was already on the right trail.

"And were you able to discover anything? Or anyone?"

"No, sir."

That was the end of it. Dumbledore didn't say another word on the subject, though he probably guessed by now that Harry had been spying on Slytherins.

"My arm, Harry."

They apparated to Grimmauld Place. Sirius was there, waiting for them out back.

"Did it work?" he asked right away.

Dumbledore smiled. "I believe the muggle expression is hook, line and sinker."

"Have you seen Robards?"

"In passing. He was quite preoccupied with Harry's double. I'd say we made our escape in the nick of time."

Sirius gave a satisfied grin. "Come on, then. I've signalled everyone who could get here on short notice."

The house was much emptier with most of the occupants gone, but you wouldn't know it by the noise filling the kitchen when they entered. The small crowd gathered around the table fell into orderly silence at the sight of Dumbledore. Harry quietly found a spot in a far corner, directly behind Sirius.

"Should he be here for this?" asked a tall wizard with pale, bright hair.

"We only know what's going on because of him, Sturgis," said Sirius, "so shut up."

Harry couldn't help the smile that curved his lips for a moment. Sturgis merely shrugged and looked towards Dumbledore.

"I believe Mr. Potter has earned the right to participate in these meetings. He has, after all, been instrumental to our efforts," said Dumbledore. "I've found that letting him know what is happening goes a long way to keeping him safe. In the spirit of fairness, however, you all have the right to know that he has experienced another of his visions."

Harry flinched. When he put it like that...

"Can we trust this vision?" Sturgis pressed. "What if it's just a ruse?"

"It's a possibility," Dumbledore agreed. "We are not leaving key locations defenceless. If we're being played, we'll have wasted a day. Regrettable, but not tragic. At the same time, we cannot afford to ignore the vision if it is accurate."

"What did he see?"

 _I'm standing right here,_ Harry thought, glaring a hole into Sturgis' back.

As if sensing his irritation, Dumbledore gave him an encouraging nod. "Perhaps Harry would prefer to tell you himself."

He cleared his throat. "Voldemort is going to Nurmengard to kill Grindelwald. Grindelwald knows something Voldemort doesn't want us finding out."

"I'd love to hunt a snake," said Sirius, "but Moony and I are after the rat. We're close."

Dumbledore's expression grew sirius and he nodded. "Of course. I shall take a small group to Germany. We have a few ways to get us to Nurmengard quickly. If we leave soon, then with any luck we'll be there before Voldemort. Alastor, Sturgis – the three of us should be able to aid the prison guard to repel an attack. If it comes to the worst, we'll extract the prisoner."

"Hold on," Sturgis interrupted. "What do you mean extract? It's _Gellert Grindelwald."_

"And what am I doing?" Harry asked without thinking. All heads turned to him, except for Moody's, but he could feel the magical eye watching him.

"Doing?" Moody asked. "Lad, you're good, but you're not going to Nurmengard."

"You expect me to just sit here? We can't fool Robards for long! We'll have to deal with the Ministry sooner or later!"

"At this point the way to do that is catching Peter. He's the proof we need to undermine Fudge and get my life back," Sirius said, then turned to Dumbledore. "Actually... you sure could use one more wand against Voldemort."

"Sirius-" Dumbledore began, but was interrupted.

Sirius looked back at Harry. "Get dressed for a field trip. You have ten minutes."

"I don't like where this is going," Moody grumbled.

"I don't care, because it's decided. Remus can join you. I'm taking my godson hunting."

~~oOo~~

Remus listened in silence while Sirius hastily explained the situation.

"Are you sure?" he asked at last. "Peter is more important to us right now than an old sorcerer. He's a known quantity."

"Positive. They're waiting for you, Moony," Sirius insisted.

Remus stared first at Sirius, then at Harry. Both looked determined, but Harry had never lacked for motivation. He must have faltered for a moment, because Harry seemed to have read his thoughts.

"I'll never be ready if I stay out of the fight, Remus. I'm ready for this, if nothing else."

Remus nodded. He wasn't convinced, but it did assuage the doubts somewhat. Sirius was going to be with him, at least.

 _On second thought... I'm not sure whether this makes Harry safer or not._

But Harry was right about one thing – he would never prepare for larger battles by not participating. Remus fished a small, heavy object from his pocket and reluctantly handed it over. "Even we had more preparation, Sirius. We finished school. Joined the Aurors."

"We weren't much older," Sirius said. "And to be honest, not much better than him either."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Harry cut in, sounding a touch irritated.

"I suppose it is what it is," Remus said, letting go of the receptacle. "He's in Cornwall. I'd say you can catch up to him if you're quick."

With that, he disapparated. It took him another minute to get back to Grimmauld Place, with the two additional jumps he made. It was always worth the time to make sure he wasn't being followed. He found Dumbledore's team assembled and ready to leave in the yard.

"Remus. You're a welcome sight," Dumbledore greeted him.

"I don't know how much help I'll be," he confessed. "I'm always... irritable with the full moon approaching."

"I'd say an irritable werewolf is just what we need."

Remus smiled weakly at the speaker. Sturgis was a Hit-wizard, a wand for hire. He'd probably met a few werewolves in his... career.

"If we are all ready, gentlemen..." Dumbledore said. "We shouldn't linger any more."

Sturgis pulled out a playing card – the Queen of Hearts – from one of the hundred pockets in his overcoat and held it out in front of him. "Hold on. It's a short trip, but a turbulent one."

The portkey _hurled_ them somewhere with such force and speed that Remus almost let it slip out of his fingers. Next to him Moody swore loudly, though Remus could barely hear it against the rushing air.

It seemed they'd taken a few _turns_ instead of travelling in a straight line before the card deposited them somewhere dark, gloomy and smelling intensely of fish. Remus recognised the London docks with a single glance.

"When you said you had other ways out of the country, Albus, I didn't realise you meant Podmore had other ways," Moody said.

"Part of the job, mate," said Sturgis. "What I do isn't always, strictly speaking, legal."

 _Yes, I can imagine,_ thought Remus.

"We can't exactly hop over to France through a portkey terminal with two wanted fugitives in our illustrious company," Sturgis added.

The Hit-wizard led them between empty hangars and parked trucks, manoeuvring away from muggles until they entered the wizarding quarter.

People here were few and those slinking between shadows were unfriendly and skittish. One of them approached Sturgis, eyes running wildly from side to side.

"Eh! Ya got any dust? Dwarf dust? I'm 'hurtin' here!"

"Get lost," said Sturgis, shoving the man roughly aside. Remus didn't feel sorry for him. He knew the type. His kind were the architects of their own downfall.

They descended a flight of stairs anchored to the riverbank. The rickety wooden structure, half-rotten from water and only held together by what looked like spell-o-tape and some Sticking Charms, led into a sewer. Sturgis showed his portkey-card to a gargoyle's head in the center of the grate and it fell away, seemingly dissolving into dust.

"This is taking too damn long, Sturgis," Moody grumbled, voicing Remus' own concerns. "Time is of the essence."

"Keep your pants on, Mad-Eye," Sturgis retorted. "You can't just instantly go from the Isles to Germany, even if you're a Dark Lord. It takes time to create a portkey that will break through international borders and even portkeys have travel time."

"Oh, I don't believe Voldemort will use a portkey at all," said Dumbledore.

"How d'you reckon?" Moody asked.

"As I recall, there is a herd of thestrals living on the grounds of the Malfoy estate."

 _Of course,_ thought Remus. Few modes of transportation were faster than thestrals. Once over the Channel, Voldemort could apparate across France and cross the French-German border by flying again.

"Couldn't we use thestrals as well?" Remus asked. "It's not a half-bad idea."

"Because, my wolfy friend, we _can_ get our hands on an international portkey rather easily," said Sturgis, flashing him a grin.

The sewer tunnel, which lead them through a shallow trench filled with murky water – Remus was glad to be wearing his boots – took a turn and opened into... a tavern?

It was widely known that there was an extensive network of tunnels below the streets of London. Goblins had commandeered a good portion of it when Gringotts was being built. Few wizard-folk chose to dwell underground, however. A lively establishment like this was the last thing Remus expected to see down here.

From the look of it, it appeared as if the tavern – which the finely crafted sign announced as The Dungeon Keeper – partly occupied an abandoned tube station. The tracks had been torn down and used to erect a stage where a corpulent wizard in a patchwork top hat was playing a jaunty tune on a fiddle. Every so often an animated mug floated itself up to his lips and he took a swig, playing all the time.

"A very climactic place," said Moody, his magical eye spinning wildly, "but where's the portkey?"

"With the Queen of Hearts, of course," replied Sturgis.

He approached the bar, where a young woman – Remus didn't think she was much older than Harry – was serving drinks.

"One more, luv," someone called after her. A dirty rug hit the man in the face, leaving him utterly confused. Sturgis clapped him on the back.

"You must be new here," the Hit-wizard said. "I'm afraid rude patrons get pushed to the back of the line."

"Look what the kneazle dragged in," the woman said. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"I haven't had the need to be seen," said Sturgis, wagging his eyebrows. "Say, Mal, d'you remember that favour you owe me?"

She nodded.

"I'm calling it in."

The woman stared for a moment, then set down the glass she'd been cleaning. "Sammy! Take charge of the bar for me, will you? I've something to take care of."

Mal invited Sturgis to a back room, but protested when the rest of them followed.

"Hey! Sturgis goes, the rest of you can wait- Professor Dumbledore?"

"I apologise, my dear, but the lighting here is terribly dim."

There was a long, silent pause.

"Not the career I imagined for you, Mallory, but you seem to have done well for yourself," Dumbledore continued politely.

"Mallory, eh?" said Moody. "I thought I knew the face."

"Mr. Moody?" Mallory groaned. "Oh, that just takes the cake..."

"Can we put the reunion off?" Remus interrupted. "We're on a clock."

Sturgis cleared his throat. "Yes, yes we are. Mal? That favour?"

Mallory blinked. "Sure. Where are you going?"

"Germany," said Sturgis. "If you could land us somewhere close to Nurmengard, that'd be great."

"Why in blazes are you going to Nurmengard?"

"Visiting a very old friend," said Dumbledore. "The portkey now, please?"

Mallory entered a hidden private room while the rest of them waited in a small space closed off by a curtain. The girl returned promptly, dropped a glass sphere in Sturgis' hand and went back to tending the bar.

"Why the Queen of Hearts?" Moody asked as they gathered around a snow-globe Sturgis was holding.

"I'm afraid we're out of time for talking," said Sturgis. "Three, two, one-"

The portkey activated.

~~oOo~~

"What is that?" Harry asked.

Sirius twisted the object around his finger. It was a coin – with two heads – attached to a chain.

"This, my attentive pupil, is a receptacle," said Sirius. "It's rather hard to nail the target with a tracking spell when you don't know where it is. One can use an object to receive the spell meant for the target – hence, receptacle."

Harry crossed his arms. "How does one enchant a receptacle, oh enlightened teacher?"

Sirius grinned. "Cheeky brat. I'm glad you ask, but you'll have to wait for an in-depth explanation. At Hogwarts, you wouldn't touch on that subject until NEWT Charms."

"Give me the short version. So I at least know what we're doing."

"In principle, you need something with a connection to the target. All that prattle about locks of hair in fairy tales isn't entirely useless. A lot of unconventional magic – the kind you don't see every day – is very ritualistic. Primal."

"But what does it _do?"_

"It shows us where to go. I thought that part was obvious."

"So... it's a compass?"

"More or less-" Sirius paused. The coin, hanging limply from the chain, swung as if tugged. "The rat's on the move. Here we go."

Harry stared at the coin as it swung from side to side, sometimes spun, sometimes hung at an angle, held between invisible fingers. He was watching it as intensely as Sirius, but if there was a language hidden in the movements, he didn't understand it.

"Am I supposed to be looking for something specific?"

"Shh!" Sirius was entirely focused on the coin. He wasn't even blinking, though Harry could see tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

Suddenly, the coin shot upwards, the chain lengthening magically to accommodate the leap and then fell on Sirius' palm, completely still.

"Got it," Sirius whispered.

"Sirius, what-"

But Sirius didn't respond, just grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him along, apparating them Merlin knows where. They landed in the middle of a busy square. People were streaming about, what looked like university students occupied the steps around a statue of some scholarly-looking man.

Harry spun around in a burst of sudden panic, but it didn't seem like anyone was paying attention to them. "Damn! Someone could have seen us!"

"Seen?" Sirius scoffed. "Muggles only see what they want to see. You don't think they'd believe two people just teleported here in front of their eyes, do you?"

Harry followed Sirius through the crowd, constantly bumping into people, while Sirius, taller, broader and certainly more noticeable, somehow plowed through the throng of pedestrians unopposed.

"I suppose- sorry- not."

"Then don't worry." Sirius looked over his shoulder and winked at him. "Besides, I'm a wearing a Notice-Me-Not Charm."

Harry rolled his eyes. _Of course. Stupid._ For a flash of a moment he was about to apply one to himself, but stopped short of pulling out his wand.

 _The Trace, you idiot!_

"Keep up, Potter," Sirius called from up ahead.

He wanted to ask about the receptacle, but there were too many people around. Soon enough they left the crowd behind them and Harry followed Sirius down a picturesque street. There were a few vendors braving the elements in the chilly morning. Something caught his attention, but then Sirius was next to him again, grabbing his arm.

"Focus," Sirius reprimanded. "Boy, you've got a lot to learn about field work."

"I'm not a bloody ex-Auror."

"Ha! You think me, Moony and James were completely green when we joined up?"

Sirius half-pulled him into some shop and they apparated once more. This time, they landed on a dirt road. On one side was a forest, on the other a low, stone wall and beyond, a field with outbuildings visible in the distance.

"So the only reason you haven't spent months on end in detention for sneaking around is the Cloak? I've half a mind to take it away once we're done. Move lively!"

Harry was regretting his insistence on 'helping' with each passing moment. It was dawning on him with a terrible weight – this wasn't some fun adventure.

Sirius held the coin out in front of him. It jerked constantly, but overall, kept guiding them in the direction the road was going. At least he could keep up the pace now.

It changed shortly when the coin, following another bout of aerial acrobatics, shot to the left. Sirius turned on his heel and, without breaking stride, hopped over the three-foot wall, propping himself up with one hand. He was good twenty paces into the field by the time Harry cleared the obstacle...

...only to run into another one. The field was far from flat. The surface was dotted with rocks jutting out from the ground and deep crevices, one of which he tripped over, scarcely avoiding a sprained ankle.

"Strange," Sirius was muttering when Harry halted next to him.

"What's strange?" he asked, slightly out of breath.

Sirius' response was claiming his shoulder and another apparition followed. They found themselves in a hilly forest. A river ran nearby, filling the air with a deep rumble. The ground was covered with fallen leaves.

"He's repeating himself," said Sirius. "He's always moved randomly, rarely been to in the same area twice within a week."

"And that's a bad thing?" Harry asked, scanning the forest. Sirius was unconcerned with their surroundings, his attention still on the receptacle.

"Even no pattern is a pattern, and he's breaking it."

Harry turned sharply in place, following a movement at the edge of his vision.

"Sirius..."

"And he's jumping around fast, like he knows he's being followed... or..."

A gust of wind rustled some leaves nearby. On instinct, Harry's wand found its way into his palm. He spun around again. This time he was sure he'd seen something.

"...he's after something else..." Sirius muttered.

The three dark-robed figures seemed to sprout from the ground where they stood, one each in a corner of a triangle. They were surrounded.

 _"Sirius."_

Sirius finally looked up and for a moment seemed confused, taken out of his musings.

"Oh."

~~oOo~~

They arrived in Germany after a similarly unpredictable journey as with Sturgis' card. The Hit-wizard placed the snow-globe in another one of his seemingly endless supply of pockets.

"Where exactly are we?" asked Remus.

Sturgis made a show of looking around. "Somewhere out in the wilderness. We're in Germany, isn't that good enough?"

"Portkeying without a precise destination is one of those things that costs you a pound of flesh," said Moody. "Sometimes literally."

"Only Mal knows where each portkey goes, alright? It's safety for her business."

"On that note, wherever did Miss Grant acquire this portkey?" asked Dumbledore.

"I think she knows a guy in Magical Transportation. Or the Foreign Office." Sturgis shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?" Moody repeated, his voice carrying a current of rising anger.

Sturgis looked thoughtfully at the snow-globe, then dropped it into a pocket. "I've been trying to find out, but that girl is _sneaky."_

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "If you would follow me."

Remus was about to ask how they would talk their way inside Nurmengard, but the point became moot when, led by Dumbledore, they climbed a small but steep ridge, topped with several trees. As they went higher, Nurmengard came into view, occupying the highest hill within sight.

It reflected Grindelwald's philosophy – function before form. The prison resembled a giant turtle, braced for an attack inside its shell. Nurmengard had been conceived as a fortress, not a prison it was now. It was supposed to keep people out, not in.

Nurmengard's several floors were arranged like a step pyramid. The symmetry of its shape was marred by a protrusion of the gatehouse off the southern wall.

Plumes of smoke were rising out of the gate. They were too late.

"Wands out," Dumbledore commanded, reaching for his own. "Voldemort can't have arrived long ago."

They approached the gatehouse ready to shield themselves from spellfire. Dumbledore and Moody assumed a brisk pace, belying their age, but Remus was too impatient for walking and took off at a run. He could hear Sturgis' boots pounding the ground not far behind.

Just past the gate, Remus saw a thestral feasting on the corpse of a witch that appeared to have taken a powerful severing curse to the abdomen.

"They're not fucking around, are they?" Sturgis asked, gasping for breath as he halted next to him.

Remus swiped his wand just as the skeletal creature raised its head towards him, decapitating it where it stood, then banished the falling corpse away from the dead witch.

"Oh dear Merlin." Dumbledore's tone betrayed emotions Remus rarely saw him display openly. With a quick glance at the Headmaster, he led the party inside.

Instantly, he had to defend against a random curse. The inner courtyard was an active battlefield. Remus surveyed the situation, letting the fighter's instinct take over. A group of German Aurors, in their traditional brown robes, was clustered in the middle, fighting a losing battle against a merciless enemy. Despite inferior numbers, the attackers had the Germans surrounded. It was easy enough to deduce how they had managed it.

Voldemort was a spectacular force in battle. He was holding one of the Germans' flanks on his own. Curses couldn't reach him – spells simply fizzled out before getting close enough, or missed, most peppering the wall behind the Dark Lord in a relentless volley of wasted opportunities. Some of the spells turned on their casters, bending to Voldemort's will.

The Dark Lord noticed immediately that the situation had changed.

"DUMBLEDORE!" he bellowed, his attention now on the Headmaster even as he released a final, devastating spell upon the Germans. Remus threw his wand-arm forward, placing a shield in its path, but it seemed to evaporate like a soap bubble. The magical shockwave crashed into the German ranks – some held out behind their defences, some were thrown off their feet, while the rest, unprotected, suffered the full impact. Remus nailed a short, burly man with a Cushioning Charm just before his back met the wall and he slumped down, knocked out.

Dumbledore opened his assault with a flurry of multicolored spells, arching towards Voldemort who simply swatted them away with a single gesture, sending them crashing into the ceiling. Dumbledore's wand moved quicker than Remus' eyes could follow, writing out a flaming symbol in the air, which then dispersed into a cloud of sparks. They covered the ground in front of the Headmaster like a carpet of fireflies. The stone floor bulged like a waking volcano and exploded upwards, the debris accumulating into large chunks, while some smaller fragments began transforming right away. For a moment Remus forgot about the battle, watching as the stone was transfigured into a fleet of all manner of guardian creatures. Dumbledore's effortless spellcraft brought forth gargoyles, hippogriffs and winged boars, aided by a swarm of bats and crows.

Voldemort released a torrent of Fiendfyre. There was no mistaking that spell. The faux-living flames crystalised into a gargantuan blade, which Voldemort slashed through the first gargoyle, cutting it in half, the stone seared black. Then the blade became a long, thin rope which swelled to an enormous size, grew a head and a mouth full of fang-like long, wispy blue flames. The basilisk twisted its massive body, the fiery tail crushing several more of Dumbledore's creations. The battle between the behemoth and its many opponents began in earnest.

Sturgis pulled him down to the ground as a curse flew overhead.

"Pay attention, friend," he said, grimacing as he retaliated with a spell of his own – the Hit-wizard's jinx sent the attacking Death Eater sailing through the air, pirouetting into the path of an Auror's curse. Remus turned back to the larger battle. Voldemort was not his responsibility here.

Eight or nine dark-robed Death Eaters – he couldn't count them accurately amidst the spellfire – bore down on the hapless Germans, their numbers dwindling. On top of that, a herd of thestrals harassed them from above, diving down between the curses to take bites of unsuspecting victims.

Remus targeted the nearest Death Eater, but his spell missed, because the Death Eater moved, avoiding a dark purple curse. Beside him, Sturgis grinned hungrily.

Two of the Death Eaters were wearing the infamous silver masks – the Inner Circle's badge of membership. Side by side with Sturgis, Remus cast spell after spell, muscle memory taking over as he transitioned smoothly from one position to another, one wand motion flowing into the next. They exchanged spellfire with the silver masks with neither side gaining an advantage. Seeing this, the Death Eaters amended their strategy.

The larger of them leapt forward, relying on his partner to shield him as he quickly closed the distance with inhuman speed. Remus angled away from Sturgis, leaving him to deal with the other Death Eater as he braced himself for the inevitable.

Fenrir Greyback bowled into him, tearing off his mask. Pinned down, Remus fell the hot breath and a streak of saliva touch his cheek.

"Long time no pain, little wolf," Greyback breathed into Remus' face, the last words devolving into a deep growl. Remus dropped his wand – it was useless now – and bent his arm, wrestling it from Greyback's fingers, then rammed an elbow into the other werewolf's temple. The blow would have crippled an ordinary man, but Greyback merely shook his head, his humour gone, replaced by fury.

"That's no way to greet an old friend, Lupin."

"But we're not friends."

Remus folded his knees like a spring and threw Greyback off. The Death Eater was back on his feet in one swift move and leaping forward again. This time, Remus was ready.

Greyback flew at him, arms spread apart, his body unprotected. Someone of his posture and strength rarely had to worry about defence.

 _Like a wild animal,_ Remus thought, ducking just under Greyback's claws as he drove a fist into the Death Eater's stomach. Greyback's own momentum only amplified the blow.

Suddenly out of breath, Greyback went limp. Seizing the opportunity, Remus grabbed his waist and threw the larger werewolf over his shoulder, head first, then back down.

Greyback, with cat-like reflexes, put his arms first, softening the impact that would have broken his neck, which instead only stunned him. Remus rolled away, scrambling for his wand and aimed it at the Death Eater just as he was standing up. The Banishing Charm launched Greyback backwards twenty feet and yet somehow he got a hold of his wand mid-flight and countered the banisher, falling on the floor in a heap.

Remus sprang to his feet, launching a curse that shattered Greyback's hasty defence, then another, which Greyback barely blocked. In a few long strides, Remus was next to the downed enemy, lashing out with a kick that snapped Greyback's head to the side. With a painful growl, Greyback let go of his wand. Remus drove the heel of his boot onto the Death Eater's hand, eliciting another moan.

"Shut up," Remus barked, silencing Greyback with a Body Bind Hex. The satisfaction didn't last. The long-forgotten pain of the Cruciatus Curse struck with a promise of tearing his muscles apart, one fibre at a time, piercing with a thousand serrated blades. He fell to his knees, then on his back just as convulsions started to shake him.

"I told him not to toy with you if you ever met again." The silky voice of Lucius Malfoy, cold and clear as ice, came from beneath the other silver mask. "But one can't teach an old dog new tricks."

Through the haze of lingering pain, Remus saw a pair of polished shoes obscure his sight of Dumbledore and Voldemort's continuing duel in the distance.

"Hey, you!" he heard Sturgis yell. "You talk too much!"

Lucius raised his wand nonchalantly and the spell passed through him as if he were only a projected image.

The Cruciatus broke and Remus reached out and closed his hand around Lucius' ankle. His body protested the strain, but he pulled and Lucius fell. Through the mask, Remus saw a flash of fear in the gray eyes as he raised his fist to drive it through the Death Eater's heart…

Something clenched around his leg and yanked it back, then claws sank into the underside of his knee and Remus snarled in pain. His vision clouded further as he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness and when it cleared again, both Malfoy and Greyback were gone.

"Looks nasty," Sturgis commented, prodding the wound with his finger. "You're going to feel that one."

"I'm aware," Remus barked in annoyance, slapping Sturgis' hand away.

Moody hobbled over. "It's done. A pyrrhic victory, at best."

"What about Grindelwald?" Remus asked, grunting.

"Dead. Voldemort's snake took care of that. It was off doing the job during the fight. I don't like admitting mistakes… but Voldemort led us by the nose."

Remus pushed off the ground to sit up and grit his teeth when his decimated knee flared up with pain.

"Sturgis, would you mind?"

The Hit-wizard helped him stand. Remus put an arm around Sturgis, careful not to put weight on the injured leg. It would heal in time, but the werewolf curse would prevent any magical acceleration of the process from working. He'd have to suffer the few days.

The courtyard was strewn with corpses and wet with fresh blood. A few of the surviving Aurors were already beginning to clean up the dead thestrals – Moody's handiwork, as Sturgis explained – and carefully collecting their fallen.

"How many dead?" Remus asked.

"Seventeen," Moody said, his step heavier than usual. "Most of them young, rookies. Germans do it like us – send fresh graduates on a prison tour."

"At least it's sunnier here," said Sturgis. Moody glowered, the eye twitching. Remus was in too much pain to care about tasteless jokes.

"One or two of those youngsters survived," Moody continued. "They're off puking their guts out."

"Is that the Warden?" Remus asked, pointing to a bearded wizard talking to Dumbledore.

"Nah," Moody said. "The Warden got eaten in the gatehouse. That's her deputy. Though the Warden now, I suppose."

Sturgis cast a long look along the recent battlefield as they slowly walked through the courtyard. "What a bloody mess," he muttered.

They stopped and Remus found enough presence of mind to consider what he'd heard. Gellert Grindelwald was dead. In truth, he had been dead to the world for decades, merely awaiting expiration in a cell, but still... Murder had taken him, not disease or old age. For some, this would mark the end of an era. For others, that era had ended long ago. And for others still, the death of the once feared overlord would mean nothing at all.

 _For once, Sturgis, we can agree._

~~oOo~~

Harry was facing one of the ambushers, while Sirius split his attention between the other two. Instinct took over when spells flew. Harry threw up a shield, which snapped into existence with an angry pop, meeting the Death Eater's curse while he prepared his own. He let go of the shield once it had done its job, flinging his wand in a twirl, the incantation passing through his thoughts, when the robed figure slumped down, as if instantly asleep.

Confused, he kept his wand on the prone figure and nailed it with a stunner just in case. Only then did he remember the Trace.

"Oh, bloody fuck..."

"Watch the tongue on that one! Oi, Sirius! What are you teaching this kid?"

"Essential survival skills," Sirius shot back.

Harry spun in place, a dozen questions battling in his mind for priority.

"How-"

Tonks shimmered into view with a grin and a wave. "How're ya doin', Harry?"

Sirius looked infinitely pleased with himself. "What did I tell you? Backup's no good if everyone can see it."

"Yeah, I passed Stealth and Tracking too, you know," Tonks said pointedly.

"My, aren't you both clever as foxes?" Harry muttered. He raised his wand. "What about this?"

Sirius gave him a quizzical look. "I dunno, what about it?"

 _"The Trace._ I used magic just now."

Sirius shrugged. "I happen to know that Harry Potter is in St. Mungo's."

"Under Auror guard," added Tonks. "Until you, ekhem, recover."

"But..." Harry found himself at a loss for words. "They'll know my wand as used."

"Then we just need to not be here when the Aurors arrive, if they even bother. Tonks, you're on clean-up duty. We're going after Peter."

Yet another apparition took them to the middle of an overgrown forest path.

"Wand at the ready," warned Sirius, the humour gone. "I think this is it. Stay close."

They followed the path to a large clearing, where the forest seemed to lean away from an old, dilapidated house. The windows were all broken or nailed over with planks, and whole portions of the roof were missing, collapsed inside, exposing the rafters.

The receptacle went limp for the space of a breath, then began spinning wildly on its axis while pointing straight at the house.

"Sirius, does that mean-"

"Yes. He's here."

Harry barely had time to comprehend it – finally they had a chance to get Pettigrew, to make things _right_ – and in that moment, the door opened and Peter Pettigrew stepped outside. He was still short and balding, yet with his silver hand and black cloak he struck a completely different figure than Harry remembered from the graveyard, beneath the surface, just as frightened as he had been. Well, he could attest how much a few months could change a person.

Peter held a wand while his silver hand clutched an engraved metal case, roughly the size of a book.

"Hey, Peter," Sirius hollered, spinning the two-headed coin on a finger. "Lose anything?"

Pettigrew wasn't surprised. He squinted at the coin as Sirius let it hang from its chain. "I've been wondering where I'd put it," he said, sporting an ugly grimace, which sprouted into a similarly ugly smile. "How kind of you to bring it back."

Sirius winked at Harry. "I swiped it from him while I was visiting with Voldemort."

Harry scrutinised Pettigrew. The rat seemed to be in high spirits, even in spite of being caught. Though still round enough, he was a fair bit thinner than the last time they'd met.

"You're in a jolly mood," Sirius observed. "That precious hand of yours give you the confidence?"

"I think it's more about the company." Another figure emerged from the house, wearing his usual roguish smile. Harry flinched when Jervis Mulciber looked straight at him.

Sirius' demeanour changed immediately. "Harry, get behind me."

"Ah! I hear protectiveness," said Mulciber, descending the stairs, "is a symptom of good parenting. Have you finally gone soft?"

"When I tell you to run, you run, get it?" Sirius said from the corner of his mouth.

"Come on, old dog, let Harry out to play!" Mulciber spun around, looking back to Harry. "I regret our last meeting ending so poorly, but, in my defence, your friend cast the first spell."

"On my mark..."

"Alright, I can see you're not in the mood." Mulciber wasn't smiling anymore. "Peter, get the boy. I'll deal with Black."

"Harry, go!"

Within a blink of an eye, the silent clearing became a battlefield. Sirius whipped his wand over his head, banishing Harry backwards, then, in one smooth move, met the incoming spells. Peter immediately followed his up with another one while Mulciber glowered, posture rigid, contemplating his next move.

Harry quickly sprang back to his feet. Sirius engaged both opponents, buying him time to escape. He could probably make it – run into the woods, conceal himself, then somehow get back to London. Maybe he could apparate if he gave it an honest try, he'd done it before...

...but he couldn't leave Sirius alone. Two against one, his odds weren't good, and when one of the two was _Mulciber_ it was all but decided.

 _Sorry, Sirius, but I'm not going anywhere._

He ran back, sliding into battle with a Concussion Hex. Unfortunately, Peter noticed his return and blocked the spell. Pressing the advantage of surprise, Harry aimed low with a Bludgeoning Hex, which met a shield, but he was already lashing out with a curse. Gradually, he and Peter edged away from Sirius and Mulciber, the battle becoming two separate duels.

Harry rolled under a sickly yellow spell which he recognised as the Blindness Curse. Then an easily identified stunner singed his hair when he was too slow with his dodge. On the third beat, Harry conjured a shield, brimming with power, and poured magic into it as it absorbed Peter's next spell. The shield imploded in a searing flash which Harry angled towards Peter. Dumbledore's lessons were paying off.

There was no time to celebrate, because Peter recovered quickly. Harry cursed himself for not taking advantage of it and was forced to block and deflect a volley of curses, each more lethal than the previous one. Furious with himself, he began backing away from the house, pushed by the steady staccato of spells that Peter's wand spewed forth. He chanced a glance at Sirius – all he could see was a flash after flash as spellfire was exchanged between opponents with terrifying speed and precision. Sirius moved constantly, his feet seemed to barely touch the ground as he and Mulciber danced around each other, evenly matched.

Distracted, Harry was too slow to shield against the next spell. The jet of angry orange light clipped his shoulder, shredding his robe and leaving a dark burn mark on his skin. "Argh!"

He sidestepped, conjuring another shield as Peter, his face full of fey delight, brought his arm down in a slash. The bludgeoner tore a path through the ground, exploding at Harry's feet. He lost his balance and fell back, arm shooting out to soften the fall.

"You are _so much_ like your parents, Harry," said Peter, raising his voice above the sound of the other duel. "But I am not so pathetic as Sirius thinks I am. Didn't he teach you to never underestimate the enemy?"

Harry was breathing raggedly, his mind racing, eyes darting back and forth between Peter and Sirius and Mulciber in the distance. They moved too quickly, spells too powerful to make out what was happening. The pace of their duel was like nothing Harry had ever seen. Sirius had _really_ been holding back during their sessions.

A wand's tip on his chin made him intimately aware of the severity of his own situation.

"The Dark Lord will reward me beyond the wildest dreams when I bring you to him," Petter purred, tracing the wand along Harry's jaw and up the curve of his cheek.

Harry looked up into Peter's eyes. "You know," he said with deliberate slowness, "he did mention something."

Peter narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What?"

Harry responded by kicking up with one leg, propped up on his left arm. It was merely a distraction, his position disallowing a truly damaging blow, but it served its purpose. Peter jumped back, his wand pointed away from Harry, who brought up his own, his reflexes a saving grace against the sluggish opponent.

 _"Depulso!"_

The spell, chosen without thinking, launched Peter back with tremendous force, until he crashed into a tree with a dull sound that Harry heard despite the noise of Sirius and Mulciber's continuing duel. He summoned Peter's wand before stunning him and hexing him frozen with a Body Bind, then his eyes found the discarded metal case.

 _It must be something important,_ he decided quickly.

 _"Accio."_

Assured that Peter wouldn't escape, he joined the other duel, aiming a curse at Mulciber. The Death Eater snarled in anger, shielding himself from the combined attacks of Harry and Sirius and spun around, weaving a ribbon of dark smoke, which he directed at Sirius. It leapt, not unlike a snake, twisting and turning in the air, attempting to wound itself around Sirius, who, with a quick, sharp gesture split it precisely down the middle, then transfigured the twin lines into chains, which he banished back at Mulciber.

Harry conjured a flame and shaped it into a whip, attached to the tip of his wand, and slashed horizontally, but the whip clashed with the chains, commandeered by Mulciber.

The three of them exchanged spellfire for another minute. Mulciber kept pace with both of them, but Harry gleefully noticed that he had trouble defending against two opponents, even if Harry's own contribution was modest. Sirius did most of the work, forcing the Death Eater to constantly adapt his tactics to varied attacks.

With a bellow of rage, all of his charm gone, Mulciber tried summoning the case from Harry's hands, but Harry blocked the spell with a snapping, satisfying motion. Mulciber then tried to release Peter from his bonds, but Sirius put a stop to that.

Realising he had lost this battle, Mulciber lashed out with a last, ground-shaking spell and disapparated.

For a long moment they stood still in complete silence disturbed only by their heaving breaths. As they calmed down, Sirius surveyed the clearing and the house again, casting several spells that Harry didn't recognise.

"Have you noticed something?" asked Sirius.

"Several somethings, actually," Harry replied. "Which are you referring to?"

"A distinct lack of law enforcement officers. Either they've fallen for our ruse and aren't tracking you… or they just can't track you."

Harry glanced down at his wand, then cast a look about the clearing. There were no signs of Aurors apparating in to arrest him. There wasn't even that feeling, hair on the back of his neck prickling, when he felt something _bad_ coming. They were alone. "You think so?"

"There are some powerful spells here. Decaying, but still active. The kind you find on old pureblood estates. The kind that shield against the Trace, so children can use magic at will."

Sirius approached the house warily, nudging the door open with his foot. Harry came over, looking in over Sirius' elbow. The interior matched the exterior – the parquet was full of holes, some broken furniture lay about and everything was covered with a thick layer of dust. Finding nothing of interest, they went to check on Pettigrew.

"Well," said Harry, "we got what we came here for."

"And something extra." Sirius took the metal case from him and examined it briefly. "Evidently, they were here for this. I reckon Dumbledore should have a good look at it, don't you?"

Their immediate return to Grimmauld Place was unceremonious. They entered the kitchen, where several weary Order members sat at the table. Then Sirius levitated Pettigrew over the tabletop and let him fall with a resounding crash.

"Good bounty today," he said smugly.

The room erupted into cheers and both Sirius and Harry accepted congratulations.

"Hey, what about me? I did my part," Tonks complained jokingly.

Sirius ruffled her hair, which immediately went from pink to an angry shade of red.

"No one's diminishing your input, little cousin," he said with a patronising smile. "Don't be such a killjoy. We got the rat! Grab a drink!"

Tonks huffed. "I'm technically on duty and if I show up _under influence…"_

"I meant for me," Sirius corrected without missing a beat. Tonks shot him a glare.

"Alcoholic."

"Weirdo."

"Convict."

"Rookie."

"Screw- what did you just say?"

"Greenie."

"Say that again, I _dare you,"_ Tonks said in a low tone Harry hadn't thought she was capable of.

"As innocent as a newborn unicorn," Sirius intoned.

Tonks did her best to look offended. "I'm a Black! I've done- things!"

Sirius chortled with glee. "Like what? Kiss a Hufflepuff?"

Tonks yelled in frustration, throwing up her hands. "I'm going to report in. Because _some_ of us actually work."

Tonks stormed out, stomping loudly until her footsteps were cut by the sound of apparition. Sirius snorted into his drink.

"No clever retort this time?" Harry asked, fighting a smile of his own. It wouldn't be fair to Tonks.

"I'm rich," said Sirius with an air of superiority. "Work is beneath me."

"Weren't you an Auror or something?"

"Foolishness of youth," Sirius replied. "I've learned from my mistakes."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

Sirius made a nasal sound. "I'm _incredibly_ witty."

"And your ego is incredibly inflated," Harry countered. The others were observing the exchange with varying degrees of amusement. "I think you may be worse than Malfoy."

Sirius' smile turned into a frown. "No need to get insulting."

The two of them went down to the basement, where Pettigrew joined the three that had ambushed them. Harry looked at each of their faces, but he didn't recognise any of them.

"Any idea who they are?"

"They're werewolves. My guess is they're Greyback's lot. Remus may be able to tell us more when they get back."

Sirius was busy securing Peter's silver hand in a rather cruel looking device of dull-coloured metal, which swallowed the Death Eater's arm up to the elbow. Sirius tapped it with his wand and the fingers were spread so far apart Harry was sure it should have broken them, but the silver digits remained firmly attached to the palm. Then several long screws sunk into the armband. Blood trickled at an alarming rate down Peter's sleeve. Sirius cut the cloak and robe open, touched his wand on Peter's skin and the bleeding stopped.

"Ugh… what is that thing?"

Sirius stepped back to admire his work. "Something Dumbledore and I cooked up when we could spare the time. We don't know what that silver hand can do, so we're taking what precautions we thought would work. Honestly, I would've just lopped off the entire arm, but Dumbledore pointed out it could give the wrong impression when we drag this lowlife into court."

Lastly, Sirius chained Peter to the wall, like the others were.

"Is this safe?" Harry asked. "Those chains look flimsy."

"Goblin-forged. Takes a lot to break that stuff."

Harry leaned against the brick pillar in the middle of the room. "Couldn't they just take the chain out of the wall?"

Sirius rapped his knuckles on the stone. "It's so saturated with enchantments it might as well be goblin steel. Blacks have kept werewolves down here before. Two hundred years ago there used to be weekend hunting trips."

Harry rubbed his face. "Your family was disgusting."

"Yes, but they're almost all dead now."

Sirius started climbing back up the stairs, but Harry stayed behind. "I'd like to talk to him… if that's okay."

Sirius nodded. "Put him back to sleep when you're done. Take as long as you want."

The door at the top of the stairs shut with a squelch of the lock and Harry was left alone with four Death Eaters. The few candles and gasless lamps placed strategically throughout the basement gave just enough light to see by.

Harry pulled up a chair in front of Pettigrew and cast the Revival Charm. The rat came to quickly, looking around dazed, but with clear interest. His gaze fell on the device trapping his hand. Harry put his wand on Peter's throat when he saw one of the fingers twitch.

"Don't," he warned.

Peter tilted his head. "I feel like I know this place… but details escape me."

Harry said nothing. For the moment, he wanted to listen to what the rat would say.

"I admit, I'd hoped for better accommodations. Sirius and I are old friends, after all. Unless you own the place, Harry?"

Pettigrew looked up to the door longingly. "I've always hated basements, if you can believe that." He sniffed at the stale air and rattled his chains, to no effect. "I'm rather fond of mantelpieces. There's always a nice spot above the fire, dry and warm, that's just the right temperature…"

Harry took in all the details. The robe was dirty, the cloak frayed at the edge and caked with mud. Hair combed over the bald spot looked ridiculous and Peter's face was brushed with yesterday's stubble. The only spotless element of his persona was the silver hand.

"Harry," Peter said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "It's really not healthy to hold a grudge."

Harry composed himself, taking deep, loud breaths until he was sure his voice wouldn't crack.

 _"Why did you betray them?"_

It was the only question he wanted to ask, the only one that mattered. Surprisingly, Peter indulged him. Harry had been prepared to have to fight to get his answer.

"You haven't lived those days, Harry," Peter said, face blank. "Even at Hogwarts, we regularly got word that someone had disappeared… or been found, distributed over more space than a person normally requires. Students graduated and joined the fight. Neutrality wasn't an option. You chose a side or were hunted by both."

He paused for a long moment and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were full of anger. "I don't know what Sirius told you, but make no mistake, the Ministry was losing. The Order was losing. The Dark Lord was smart, terrifying and brutal. Entire purebloods clans, with estates like fortresses, fell before him. And I was supposed to fight him?" Peter shook his head, his expression bitter. "His Death Eaters were the crop of the most talented wizards of that time. Do you know what the Daily Prophet nicknamed Mulciber? The Butcher. He would put you under Imperious and make your family watch as you eviscerated yourself."

"You could've hidden," said Harry, interrupting the rant. "You're good at that."

"True," Peter agreed. "And I don't mind hiding. But the Dark Lord got to me first. He found my family and promised to let them go, unharmed, if I did his bidding."

"And you _believed_ him? Voldemort?"

Peter gave a chilling smile. "The Dark Lord isn't the monster you imagine him to be."

Harry was about to protest, but Peter wasn't finished. "He's a monster of some kind, no doubt, but he learned from Grindelwald. The Dark Lord is a sophisticated creature. Charming. Convincing. He values loyalty. It's his followers, _us,_ that are bloodthirsty. He prefers the Killing Curse. It's efficient, elegant. He hates spilling wizard blood, however muddy it is."

"What happened with your parents?"

"He kept his promise." Peter nodded solemnly several times. "Yes. But Mulciber never promised me anything. He turned them into minced meat and fed them to Lucius' thestrals."

Harry didn't know what to say, he just knew he didn't want to know that. He didn't _need_ to know that. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. At least his parents had had the mercy of a quick death.

"Then why did you stay?" he asked, desperate. "He had nothing to hold over you anymore."

Peter threw back his head and laughed. "You don't just _leave_ the Dark Lord's service. Besides, he gave me a modicum of justice. I made Mulciber scream for _hours."_ He bared his teeth in a deranged grin. "I think that's why Mulciber likes me. Because I hit back. Not like some others."

"You- you enjoyed it?" Harry asked, taken aback.

"Yes." Peter leaned forward. "I _liked_ it. Violence is an incredible drug, Harry. After that… giving up your parents was easy."

Harry wiped his face on the sleeve. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "You betrayed your friends without a second thought?"

"We can argue the merits of James Potter's _friendship_ on another occasion."

"And then you hid, like a coward, for twelve years."

Peter shrugged. "The Dark Lord was my shield. I had no delusions about standing up to the Order. _Of course_ I hid."

Harry stood, kicked the chair away and took off his jacket.

"You claim to enjoy violence," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "Then I think you'll enjoy this."

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore talked with the German commander for another hour while Remus and the others helped restore the courtyard to its previous condition. Eventually, a fresh contingent of Aurors arrived, led by a witch who could be McGonagall's sister. Her greying hair was arranged into a bun that fit perfectly under the hat. She wore a more decorative version of the standard Auror's uniform. The robes and cloak had a golden trim and she carried herself with an air of importance.

Remus and Sturgis stood off to the side, Remus leaning heavily against the wall to take the weight off the injured leg.

"How do you suppose Dumbledore will explain us crossing their border?" asked Sturgis, keeping one hand on the wand and the other close to where the snow-globe was hidden.

"I think she'll let us go."

Sturgis raised an eyebrow. "Do they know each other?" He jerked his thumb at the witch.

"Does the name Caroline Amsel ring any bells?"

Sturgis tilted his head. "Grindelwald's most infamous lieutenant. Wait- are you saying-"

"No, Caroline is long dead. This is her niece," Remus explained. "She grew up in Durmstrang when it was occupied by Grindelwald. Dumbledore released her from the dungeons after Grindelwald's defeat."

"Why was she in the dungeons?"

"Apparently she tried to kill Grindelwald with a dessert fork."

Sturgis chuckled. "This sounds too ridiculous to be true."

"You should hang out with us more," said Remus casually. "Dumbledore's got friends in the strangest places."

Finally, the discussions came to an end. Moody beckoned them to follow him and Dumbledore out.

"The day is grim," said Dumbledore, "but not without small blessings. The new Warden and his surviving colleagues have agreed to testify to Voldemort's presence here today. Even should Peter Pettigrew remain free, we may be able to deliver the proof Minister Fudge has been demanding."

"How are we going to do that though?" asked Sturgis. "Fudge will have you hauled away to Azkaban before he listens to a word you say."

Dumbledore gave an uncharacteristically devious smile, though his eyes were still dull, dimmed by the abundance of death. "There are ways in which pressure can be applied. I know that you're used to a more hands-on approach."

The snow-globe deposited them in the docks. Remus opted out of paying Mallory another visit and instead returned to Grimmauld Place with Dumbledore. Moody followed Sturgis into the sewer.

Remus clenched his teeth when they apparated and hobbled inside. He found Sirius in the kitchen, meditating over a glass of Firewhiskey.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said as they came in, "have you been successful?"

"Indeed," Sirius replied. "Peter is in the basement, along with three werewolves – Greyback's, I presume. Also, there's this."

He clinked his glass against a metal box. "I don't know what's inside, though not for lack of trying. I couldn't open it and I tried… at least seven things before I gave up."

"Where is everyone?" asked Remus.

"Went home – or wherever. Arthur's at work, Molly decided out of the blue to visit that old hag Muriel…"

"Where's Harry?"

Sirius swallowed the last of his drink. "Cutting a chat with Peter."

"Cutting a chat?" Remus repeated. "You thought it was smart to leave him alone with Peter, after he planned to murder Draco Malfoy? How long has he been down there?"

At that, Sirius consulted the clock and paled. "Almost an hour."

Remus didn't wait for Sirius or Dumbledore. Powering through the pain, he crossed the kitchen and the hall as quickly as he could, Sirius on his heels. He almost took the basement door off the hinges and half-walked, half-jumped down the stairs.

Harry was leaning over Peter who slumped on a chair, but straightened at the sound of their arrival. Peter's face was a bloody pulp. Remus could only guess about the bruises hidden by the robes.

"Bloody hell…" Sirius mumbled.

Harry looked at them with a nonchalant expression and wiped his red-stained hands on his pants.

"Don't worry. I didn't kill him."


	16. CHAPTER FIVE: War Horizon, Part 2

**CHAPTER FIVE: War Horizon**

 **Part 2**

The Aurors entered the castle in formation, led by the solitary Anton Robards up front. Teams of three, standard procedure for Aurors, naturally stuck together, covering each other's blind spots, though the rookies – missing a step here and there – were easily identified.

Snape observed the commotion from a gallery overlooking the Entrance Hall. Students concentrated around the Great Hall's doors and the dungeons entrance. McGonagall walked briskly past him to meet Robards. She never saw him, hidden by shadows and a bit of magic.

As the confrontation below unfolded, he listened idly with one ear, though the echo made it difficult to make out what was being said. He reached into a pocket for the parchment he'd put there. It was an entirely unremarkable letter – the parchment was of typical average quality, the script blocky and unappealing, the product of an unskilled hand. Ordinary.

It had been enough for him to bleed a drop of blood onto it and the masking charms fell away, revealing the truth of the letter to his eyes. In place of a fictional person's signature appeared a Dark Mark and the text rearranged itself into a succinct note with instructions, penned by the Dark Lord himself. The messenger who delivered it had seemed awfully smug, even as Snape threatened in no uncertain terms that if the boy approached him again so conspicuously, he would be joining Draco in exile from Hogwarts.

"I only do as the Dark Lord commands," Nott shot back.

 _Arrogant little shit,_ thought Snape. _Malfoy thought he'd learned everything there was to know, too. Look where that got him._

Snape could hardly believe this… willful ignorance. Perhaps it was a statement on modern times. Even bloody Potter hadn't been so jaded on matters of actual importance. His son seemed more in tune with the gravity of the current events than the supposedly educated next generation of Death Eaters.

 _If this is what the Dark Lord had to rely on, he's not making things any easier for himself._

As soon as the thought pushed itself to the forefront of his mind, Snape took a sobering breath and fragmented the memory of the moment, then buried it deep, where the most diligent seeker wouldn't find it. The Dark Lord wasn't as malevolent as thought by those who didn't know him – he valued loyalty. Conversely, he despised any treasonous sentiment. Perhaps the only thing he hated more was incompetence.

Snape ran his thumb over the Dark Mark pressed into the parchment, scanning the letter one more time to commit the instructions to memory. He crumpled the parchment in his hand and vanished it. It was safer that way. Burning left ashes, which was evidence. He took care to cover his tracks.

He narrowed his eyes and surveyed the crowd of students converging in the Entrance Hall. As his gaze slid past their faces, he caught details, movements that naturally drew the eye in. McGonagall huffed as Aurors ran past her up the stairs and then past Snape, climbing still higher. RobardsFlooed out to St. Mungo's. Snape could deduce the rough edges of Dumbledore's exit strategy – Grayson looked to be the sort of person who would keep a supply of Polyjuice Potion on hand. It was the simplest thing to use one of his comatose long-term patients as a decoy to fool the pursuit. Merely a delaying tactic, but it was all Dumbledore needed.

Another movement caught his attention – a disturbance in the mostly stationary crowd as someone made their way through it. The girl ducked into one of several passages connecting the Entrance Hall to various other areas of the castle. By lucky chance, it was his target on the move.

With the letter's contents and Hogwarts' topography in mind, he could make a solid guess as to where the she was heading. A remote area. Isolation. No witnesses of any kind; no paintings or suits of armour in the vicinity. Almost as if the Dark Lord had predicted the situation would play right into Snape's hands.

He allowed himself to linger on the gallery for a short moment before making his way to cut off the target on the fifth floor. A dissenting thought ran through his mind – if Dumbledore ever found out about what he was going to do, not even the goodwill he'd generated over fourteen years would save him. Dumbledore expected him to play the role of a loyal Death Eater, not actually be one.

Snape hid that thought as well. This was the problem with serving two masters, each of whom wanted you to double-cross the other. Some secrets had to be kept from either, some from both, some from everyone. He just wanted to survive, whichever side won. He'd paid off any debts years ago, but two old, stubborn wizards believed he still owed them something.

Who would have thought that self-preservation instinct could lead one _into_ danger?

~~oOo~~

Mulciber circled the house once, twice, three times before finally giving in. Literal going in circles wouldn't solve anything. Delaying the news would only work against him. He knew that, of course, but human nature was often stronger than logic.

Peter… For all his deviousness, he worked best outside the battlefield. Some people just weren't cut out for being fighters. Worse still, Greyback's boys hadn't reported in either. Knowing Black, he got them too. A wizard such as him wouldn't be caught off guard again. And Potter – there was a surprise. Peter couldn't match Mulciber himself or Black, but he wasn't without a dirty trick or two. Potter was growing into his power. How exciting.

His pacing routine had taken a good half hour. He should have gone straight inside. Hopefully someone would bring good news, or dinner tonight would be terribly awkward.

Several of the new recruits loitering in the hall scampered out of his way when he blasted the doors open. He could seem angry, at least. If he were angry along with the Dark Lord, it might work to his advantage.

His cunning plan was shot to hell upon entering the ballroom. He slipped into his true self, even as he cursed himself for it.

"Good evening, my fellow minions," he greeted a touch too cheerfully. "My Lord."

Voldemort was out of his raised chair – the only seating in the room – standing in front of the dais as he received the news. He raised his gaze to Mulciber.

"Jervis," he returned the greeting curtly. "Your party seems to be missing a few bodies… and a package."

"I could blame this entirely on Peter, but that wouldn't be strictly accurate,"Mulciber said. "Whatever Black was doing to track Peter worked. He caught up to us today."

"There were contingencies in place for just that happenstance, _you_ being one of them," said Voldemort. "Did they not work?"

"I have to assume the first one didn't,"Mulciber continued. "Black showed up none the worse for wear. There was no trace of Greyback's people. If I know Black, and I do, he took them prisoner."

Somewhere from the side Greyback growled, giving a sign of his displeasure.

"Come off it, Fenrir,"Mulciber added sharply. "Your guys messed up. How hard is it to ambush someone? I bet they showed themselves instead of just jumping him."

"Was Black alone?" asked Voldemort.

Mulciber hesitated for a split second before answering. "No. Potter was with him."

"Potter?" The Dark Lord paced in a circle. "Of course. You and Black gave yourselves into your contest of comparing wands and Potter bested Wormtail. I wonder… was Wormtail so incompetent, or Potter so capable?"

Mulciber caught the subtle glance in his direction. It was a question Voldemort wanted an answer to.

"He has progressed since the last time I saw him."

Mulciber discreetly surveyed those who had gone to Nurmengard. Malfoy, what a pity, looked fine, but Fenrir's posture betrayed a recent and painful injury. The worst must have passed already, else he wouldn't be standing there. The morning had been a hectic affair, orders coming quickly and lacking their usual precision. Lupin's absence from Black's company was another unusual element to this peculiar puzzle.

Just what had happened in Germany?

He was interrupted in his musings by a new arrival. Snape walked in, his profile straight, followed by a young witch. Mulciber's mind raced with questions. Of all the things to happen today, this would be the least expected. Was she a new recruit?

"Mulciber – what of the box you were supposed to retrieve?"

He breathed in through the nose. A punishment of some kind was inevitable. He just hoped it would be something more refined than a curse. He hated being seen on his knees.

"Black has it."

The Cruciatus came lightning-fast. He grunted in pain, falling forward, but stopped himself from sprawling flat on the floor. He would _not_ be reduced to that in his own home.

Grinding his teeth together, he spotted Draco, hiding at the back of the gathering, watching him with a shade of satisfaction. His muscles painfully tense, Mulciber waited on all fours for the curse to end. He counted the seconds between involuntary sounds escaping his throat as his body was set on fire over and over again.

Finally, blissfully, the spell was lifted, though spasms still shook him. The room was silent.

Someone approached and attempted to pull him up. He swatted the hand away and, despite his body's protests, rose to kneeling on just one knee.

"Your defiance is praiseworthy, but we've no time to waste," said the Dark Lord. Each word felt like a lash across his back. "Fenrir, help Jervis remove himself from the room."

The hand he'd pushed away grabbed his collar and he was lifted up like a ragdoll.

Oh, blast dignity.

He put an arm on the werewolf's shoulder and together they limped out into the hall, passing Snape on the way.

"My sympathies," Snape muttered, but not quietly enough to not be heard. A short burst of laughter carried through the room, Draco laughing along with everyone. Mulciber made a note to crank up the gears during their next practice. The laughter hounded him as Fenrir dragged him through the door.

Before it closed behind them, he heard Voldemort speak again.

"Severus, at least you've not failed me today."

Then there was a dull thud of the double doors as the ballroom was sealed and Mulciber rested on the stairs."I really hate that bastard," he said, shooting the ballroom's doors a glare.

"Snape?" Fenrir snorted. "I thought Black was 'that bastard'."

"No, Sirius and I just have a rocky friendship," said Mulciber. "Charming rogues both. For him, bastard is a term of endearment."

"You're the strangest man I've ever met, and I've been around."

Mulciber tried to stand, but gave up when his legs folded beneath him. "You've seen nothing yet. Help me up, you mangy mutt. Let's go get drunk."

Fenrir lifted him just as easily as before. "Aye, that's the best idea I've heard all day. Just don't puke." Fenrir poked him in the ribs. "I'm not drinking with a weakling."

"You're a horrible friend, Fenrir,"Mulciber said jokingly. "I'll tell you all about how easy it is to ambush someone."

"You're helping me find them," Fenrir said. "I'll hear no excuses."

"Yes, of course,"Mulciber retorted as they slowly climbed the stairs. "And then I'll teach them proper ambush tactics, useless idiots."

Fenrir made a throaty sound that Mulciber couldn't tell if it were laughter or the opposite.

~~oOo~~

Ginny couldn't help peeking at the the stairway leading to the boys' dorms. Two of the Aurors (one was named Shins or something ridiculous like that) were busy upstairs, searching the room. Ron protested loudly and vigorously when they barged in and started turning over Harry's things, only to be thrown out for his trouble.

The last of the three Aurors in the Gryffindor tower was taking statements from students. The Ministry was better informed than Ginny had thought, because the Auror began with Ron, moved on to Fred and George (who promptly disappeared after their joint questioning) and was now interviewing her.

"So you haven't seen Potter all morning?"

Ginny gave the Auror a furious look. "Don't put words in my mouth."

The Auror glared back. "Then give me answers I won't _misinterpret,_ miss. Have you seen Potter today?"

"Yes."

"At what time?"

"Breakfast."

The Auror tilted his head while a Dicta-Quill made notes on a scroll floating next to him. "I asked about the time. What hour?"

Ginny glanced at the stairs again. "Breakfast is at eight."

"Look here, Miss Weasley," the Auror scolded her, "I know when breakfast at Hogwarts starts. If you don't want to tell, you might as well stop wasting my time and say so."

"Fine," Ginny shot back. "I don't want to tell you."

The Auror was unmoved by her outburst. "Have you seen Potter practicing dangerous or advanced magic today or anytime lately? Let's say the past five days."

 _Of course, but I'm not going to tell_ you _that._

No."

The Auror's trimmed eyebrow rose, but he said nothing besides 'you're free to go' and beckoning Neville over. The older Gryffindor was pale and his hands were sweating. Ginny flashed him a reassuring smile, which he returned weakly.

Ron glowered at the Auror from afar as he ploughed through the packed Common Room to join her by the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Do you think they'll find anything?" she asked.

"They might," said Ron. "We tried enchanting and-"

He was interrupted by a muffled scream coming from the boys' dorms. A few moments later Auror Shins appeared, leading his colleague, who had clasped a hand over one side of her face.

"Take her to St. Mungo's," Shins ordered, shoving Neville aside. "I'll finish up here."

Ron watched the scene holding back a grin. "Yeah…"

"Ron, what the hell was that?"

He cleared his throat. "Conjunctivitis. Blindness Curse. If this woman took a close hit, she might lose that eye."

Ginny watched with growing dread as the injured Auror was escorted out by her partner.

"They could charge Harry with assaulting an Auror," she whispered.

"Serves them right," said Ron, his tone rebellious. "Harry only put the really nasty stuff on important things… shouldn't have been sticking their fat fingers in there…"

His bravado died down when Auror Shins came down from the dorms levitating Harry's trunk. By the way it bulged, Ginny guessed it must have been packed with all of Harry's things, including Hedwig's cage.

"Shit," Ron swore quietly. "The stuff in there- we can't let him take it!"

"What does Harry keep there?"

"Does it matter? It's not right!" Ron insisted. "Follow me, I know a shortcut. If this guy's going downstairs, we can surprise him."

Ginny followed her brother out and into one of Hogwarts' countless claustrophobic secret tunnels, not quite sure why she wasn't stopping him right now. Were they really going to attack an Auror?

"There he is," Ron muttered. Auror Shins was quickly descending a set of stairs below them.

"Okay, if this is happening, we need to do it right," Ginny said.

Ron's smile frankly scared her a little.

"Watch."

She couldn't make out the incantation – or maybe Ron hadn't used one – but the next moment there was a blinding flash of light and a loud noise, not unlike an explosion. It made her blink and flinch, butAuror Shins, having taken a faceful of the spell, collapsed, howling in pain, then rolled down the steps.

Wearing a satisfied smile, Ron summoned the trunk and ushered her forward as they ducked back into the tunnel.

"Where'd you learn that spell?" she asked the first question that came to mind.

Ron grinned darkly. "From Sirius. The Flashbang Hex. Harry's dad created it."

Ginny smiled despite herself. Sirius always said Harry was like his father. By the reputation James Potter had among his peers, she could see him inventing a spell to create as much chaos as possible.

"Now that we've attacked an Auror, we can't show our faces," Ginny said. "I hope whatever Harry and Dumbledore are doing, they do it fast."

"We can always skip school," Ron suggested and she couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"Mum would kill us."

"I bet Bill could smuggle us somewhere," said Ron. "Maybe China."

"What are we going to do with the trunk? We're not carrying it around with us."

"I know a few places."

They sneaked through the castle and stowed the trunk in a collapsed passage on the fourth floor, behind an enormous mirror. Even though the ceiling had caved in, there was still a fair bit of room here.

"I didn't know about this one," Ginny said, approaching the cave-in to get a better look at it.

"It's supposed to lead outside the castle, like the one to Honeydukes'," Ron explained, "but it collapsed a few years ago. Fred and George tried to clear it, but it's like the castle wouldn't let them or something. The stones were always back in their previous place whenever they returned to finish up."

"We should go back and get a sense of what's going on. They'll be looking for the attacker." Ginny frowned. "I'm starting to think I should have stopped you."

Ron shrugged. "You would have if you hadn't wanted to go through with it. We're not caught yet, so I say let's not worry."

"I can't not worry," she protested. "Harry is gone and we don't know what's happening. And have you seen Hermione?"

"She disappeared after the Aurors rolled in. She wanted to check something." Ron crossed his arms. "Probably legal precedents," he added with a hint of irritation.

"We should find her. Where's the Map?"

Before Ron could answer, the mirror behind them slid open just enough to let someone in. Ginny's wand was on the intruder before they crossed the threshold.

"Hey, it's me!" Hermione said. She was holding the Map and her own wand. "Good thing we kept this outside the tower. I heard Aurors-"

She paused, seeing the trunk.

"Is that Harry's? Why do you-" Her eyes grew in size as the answer dawned on her. "You attacked an Auror! What were you thinking? Now there are even more of them crawling all over the school, looking for you!"

"They know it's us?" Ron looked a little panicked.

Hermione huffed, arms crossed over her chest. "You made a lot of noise about them searching Harry's things and now you've disappeared and so has the trunk. It looks suspicious."

Ginny groaned. "I _knew_ I should have talked you out of it."

"Where have you been, anyway?" Ron demanded. "It's been hours!"

 _"I_ was trying to find out what's happening," Hermione replied, her eyes narrowing in a way that warned Ginny of an imminent argument. "I told you as much this morning."

"So, have you learned anything?" Ron asked, snapping back.

"I sneaked outside to use the Floo."

"Outside? Outside where?"

"Outside the castle, to the Shrieking Shack." Hermione looked very pleased by Ron's reaction to the revelation. "Harry mentioned that Dumbledore had a friend in the Department of Magical Transport who established an emergency connection between it and Grimmauld Place."

"Yes, but it requires a password," said Ginny. Both Ron and Hermione looked at her, surprised. Ginny smiled smugly. "I got it out of Harry."

Ron looked up at the ceiling, lip twitching. He still hadn't entirely accepted the fact that she and Harry were dating.

"Anyway, who did you talk to?" Ginny asked, turning back to Hermione.

"Well… Professor Snape."

Ron assumed an expression of utter disgust. "Snape?" he spat, sounding betrayed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We've been over this, Ron. He's in the Order and Dumbledore trusts him."

"You don't call Dumbledore 'Professor'," Ron said, pointing an accusing finger.

"What? I-" Hermione sputtered. "That's _ridiculous,_ what has that got to do with _anything…_ It's just a habit, Ron and he is a Professor-"

"Harry doesn't trust him!" Ron insisted. "Do you trust Snape more than Harry?"

Hermione balled her fists and spun around, a small yell escaping her. "You're impossible, Ron."

Ginny jabbed her wand at the floor, conjuring a spray of sparks.

"Enough, you two," she ordered. "You're at it like an old married couple."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other simultaneously, then turned to her, staring as if she had suggested Malfoy was a decent person after all.

"You're crazy."

"We're friends, but-"

"I can't even imagine…"

"Shut up. Hermione, what did Snape say?"

Hermione cast Ron one more glance and shook her head. "Something big happened, but I couldn't find out what. Harry is at Grimmauld Place, there's a double at St. Mungo's to throw off the Aurors." She paused, swallowing. "Snape suggested… It sounded as though he – Harry, I mean – he beat someone up pretty badly."

"What, that's it?" Ron pressed. "That's happened before. Whose arse did he kick?"

"Snape was very sparing with words. He told me to return to the castle and ended the call."

"You should've just called again. Maybe someone else would have answered," said Ron.

Hermione glowered at him furiously. "You don't think I tried that? There was no answer. I tried three more times, but the connection must have been temporarily disabled."

Ginny steered the ensuing argument into calmer waters until it wound down and eventually the three of them settled into a nervous silence.

"It's a strange day," Ginny said at last. Ron, staring at the floor, nodded in an exaggerated manner, sighing heavily. Hermione was idly flipping through the various configurations of the Map, folding and unfolding its parts. She frowned, refolding the flaps into what Ginny thought was the third floor.

"Now that's strange," she muttered quietly. "Ron, do you know if the twins are friends with anyone in Slytherin?"

Ron made a face at her, apparently still sour about the argument. "Slytherin? They'd sooner be friends with goblins."

"Well, they're talking to one," said Hermione. "Or standing within speaking distance."

"They could just be spying," Ron speculated. "We've been doing plenty of that."

Hermione shook her head. "We never considered this name. And no offense to the twins, but if there was something suspicious about her, we'd have learned sooner."

"Her?" Ginny asked. So far, they had only followed boys. It never occurred to any of them to pay attention to Slytherin girls as well. "Who is it?"

"Daphne Greengrass."

Ginny thought the elder of Greengrass sisters would have made a better Malfoy than the ponce ever could. She was appropriately beautiful and blonde and just seemed like a _better_ Slytherin. Greengrass could be perfectly charming or frostily aloof depending on the situation.

"Her sister is a year below me," said Ginny. "I always thought she was alright, though rather flighty."

"Says you," Ron cut in. "Who was this Michael Corner character last year?"

"You could use a girlfriend, Ron," Ginny retorted. "She'd help you _clear your head."_

Ron turned a deep red, opened his mouth and closed it, turning away. Ginny smirked in satisfaction.

"Are you quite finished?" Hermione interrupted them. "It's no use worrying about Harry right now. We should investigate this business with the twins."

"Is there a way we could contact them from here?"

Hermione looked apologetic. "I'm working on something, but it'll take a while longer. We'll have to meet with them."

"Are the Aurors still here?" Ron asked, pointing to the Map. "One of them is called Shins."

"Hermione tapped the Map with her wand, muttering something. The Map fluttered as if moved by wind, the flaps folding into the view of the Entrance Hall.

"If that was the one you attacked then he's not here, but this Robards character is back. He's in the Entrance Hall with McGonagall."

"Well, if the Captain is hanging around…"

"And there are three names I don't recognise trying to get inside the Headmaster's office," Hermione added. "They're still sniffing."

"Did you say they were looking for us specifically?" Ginny asked.

"You two were observed being uncooperative. Then people saw you leaving the Tower. And a few minutes later Auror Shins was attacked and Harry's trunk was gone. What's inside anyway that cursed that Auror?"

Ron grinned at that. "Sirius showed us a few tricks. We put some real nasty stuff on some things."

Hermione frowned, wearing an expression Ginny couldn't quite put down. "I still don't understand how you did that," she said, a hint of jealousy in her tone. "You've never studied Arithmancy."

"It's something Harry said Dumbledore told him. That there's more than one path to understanding, or something philosophical like that."

Hermione mumbled under her nose, almost too quiet to hear. "Bollocks."

Ron apparently heard it too. "Ha! Now you're pissed your precious club of number-crunchers isn't as special as you thought!"

"Don't listen to him, he's an oaf," said Ginny.

"Hey!"

"We need to talk to Fred and George."

"Why is some Slytherin so important?" Ron butted in, voice raised. Ginny tilted her head and looked at him crossly. Sometimes he didn't know when to stop.

"She could be – we don't know. And besides, it's better than hiding in here, doing nothing," she replied, glaring daggers at her brother.

Ron led the way, Map in hand. Hermione had begrudgingly admitted he was a better guide around Hogwarts. She still nagged him every few steps, pointing out someone they could cross paths with, until Ron gave her a look that made her blush and back off. She swallowed her protests as Ron quickly navigated the hallways and several hidden passages to get them to the third floor.

When they found Fred and George, Daphne Greengrass was nowhere in sight.

"Why, hello to our fellow mischief-makers!" said Fred.

"What a fortuitous meeting. Completely random, I'm sure," added George, winking at Ron, who was stuffing the Map into his robe.

"You can still catch her, she's not far," continued Fred.

Then, in unison, the twins pointed down the hallway. "She went that way," they said in concert.

"Greengrass, what did she want?" asked Ron.

But Fred and George had turned away in perfect sync and marched in the opposite direction.

Ginny broke the puzzling silence. "What are we waiting for?"

Ron shrugged, but unfolded the Map again, spared it a glance and put it away. Moving at a brisk pace, they caught up to the Slytherin some way down the hall.

"Hey you!" Ron called after her.

Ginny and Hermione shared an exasperated look.

"Greengrass," Hermione said in a more polite tone. The Slytherin turned on her heel. Ginny expected her to draw her wand, but she hadn't.

"Granger," said Daphne Greengrass. "Weasley." She gave Ginny a nod, then looked at Ron, her expression much less charitable. "Weasley."

Ron looked like he wanted to return a biting remark, but thankfully didn't.

"We've heard you wanted to talk to us," began Hermione. "Let's talk."

Greengrass didn't move from her spot, but subtly placed her hand closer to where Ginny guessed her wand was resting. "You've heard wrong."

Ginny almost planted a palm on her face. _Of course._

"You were looking for Harry," she said.

"Yes," the Slytherin admitted.

"Where have you been for the last couple hours?" Ron asked, suspicious. "Didn't you see him leaving during breakfast? And the mess afterwards?"

Greengrass shot him a glare. "I haven't gone to breakfast. I've been otherwise engaged."

"Yeah, right," Ron mumbled. Hermione punched him in the arm.

"Fair enough," she said. "Not our business. But you should know, Harry will be… unavailable for some time."

"I figured as much." The Slytherin took a tentative step back. "When he comes back, tell him I'd like to meet. In private."

"Or you could just tell us," Ron countered.

"No, I don't think I could." And then she walked away, her footsteps echoing in the hallway.

Ron stared after her until she ducked into another passage. "What the hell was that about?"

~~oOo~~

"How's the rat?" Sirius asked.

Remus glanced at the door of one of the many spare bedrooms in the house, now emptied save for a bed and an array of containment spells. Inside, Peter was sleeping off his latest misadventure.

"His face was a mess and he was bruised all over, but he'll be fine. I'm more interested in Harry."

Sirius stuck both hands into pockets and sighed heavily, looking down at the floor. "I locked him in his room to cool off," he said, sounding as if he were ashamed. "I really don't know what to do. I don't think talking's any good here and…"

"Yes?" Remus prodded.

Sirius' stare was steel-cold now. "I would have done the same thing in his place."

Remus shook his head. "Sirius..."

"I know what you're going to say," Sirius cut in. "I'm his guardian. I should be teaching him right and wrong. But I don't think he did anything wrong. He's fifteen, for fuck's sake! I can tell you, he's more responsible than we were. Well, James and I. You were always too bloody mature."

They went down to the kitchen, where the Order's leadership had gathered. Besides Sirius and Remus, there was Dumbledore and Moody. Some decisions called for a smaller number of voices.

"How is Harry?" asked Dumbledore as they came in.

"Locked and likely making a mess of the room. I say let him." Sirius looked like he'd swallowed something digusting. "I'll talk to him later." When no else spoke, he continued, "I would have killed the bastard. Can we not waste breath deliberating why Harry beat up the man who betrayed his parents? We've got Peter and his face can be fixed. That's what matters."

Dumbledore apparently decided not to press the issue at this time, though Remus thought he could see subtle signs of frustration in his expression.

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Sirius isn't wrong. While the loss of the information Grindelwald possessed is regrettable, we've achieved a significant victory. Unfortunately, even this may work against us."

No explanation was required. They all knew what this meant – no more hiding. No more restraint. The war would be fought openly from now on.

"We must move quickly. Voldemort's likeliest target is Azkaban," Dumbledore picked up the topic. "We can ill-afford to simply let him take it."

"We just fought a battle against a fraction of his current forces," said Remus. "I doubt we can stop him on our own and we don't have time to muster public support."

"We have a man inside the fortress," Dumbledore said. "Dellan Grayson. If he can, he'll notify me in case of an attack."

"Grayson?" Sirius repeated, surprised. "Grayson has a son?"

Moody rapped his knuckles on the table. "We have Pettigrew. We know what needs doing, but how do we do it?"

"Thank you for steering us back on course, Alastor. Indeed, as the muggles say, we must strike the metal while it's hot."

"We bring Peter in," Remus proposed. "Cut the Gordian knot. Get him a trial. It's the best thing we can do right now."

"We break into Fudge's house and knock some bloody sense into him," Sirius countered and Remus could tell he wasn't joking. "We could let Harry do the knocking," he added, his lips curling into a cold smile.

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture at the looks of disapproval he received, though Moody's was only half-hearted. "Alright, we're not beating up the stupid Minister."

"I fear the Ministry is beyond a certain kind of help," said Dumbledore. "Simply convincing key players of the truth is not enough at this point."

"Obviously," Sirius drawled. "We've already done that."

"It is vitally important that Voldemort does not reacquire considerable influence over the Minister – by which of course I mean Lucius Malfoy."

"What have you got in mind?" Moddy asked.

"Voldemort will reveal himself soon enough, now that one of the important pieces had been removed from the board. Our only way forward is to convince Cornelius the same way we did others." Before anyone could ask, Dumbledore raised a hand to silence them. "Cornelius cares about his reputation and that is inevitably going to take a fall in the coming weeks. We must make an offer he won't be able to refuse. One that saves that very reputation."

Dumbledore laid the particulars of his proposed plan. Remus was less inclined to support it with each word the Headmaster spoke.

"You intend to let him get away with everything?" he asked, his tone accusatory. "Every questionable decision, every bribe, every bullshit law he helped pass, all of it washed away?"

"I didn't take you for the vengeful type, Moony," Sirius remarked. "I don't like this plan any more than you, but-"

"No buts," Remus cut him off. "Fudge must answer. I will not accept anything less. I'm not fighting out of entirely altruistic reasons. I could have gone back to Europe, taken Harry with me and not come back. If I'm putting my life on the line, Cornelius Fudge can risk his bloody job."

Dumbledore slumped back into his chair. "Remus, you're being unreasonable."

Remus let out a low growl. "Then maybe you should find another brawler to take on Greyback."

He stood, leaning on the table – the leg was still painful – towering over Sirius sitting next to him.

"You used to be such a nice guy. Bounty hunting turned you into a real rotten bastard," Sirius said. He turned to the other two wizards. "I'm voting with the bastard. I'm sure we can compromise somewhere. Use Fudge now, scapegoat him later."

Remus nodded. "I can agree to that."

"Putting our own selfish goals above the common good puts everyone in danger," replied Dumbledore, looking on sternly.

"I'm not your student anymore, Headmaster. Selfishness is what's kept me alive all those years. Fudge has made every effort to chase me out of my home."

A heavy, stifling silence fell over them.

"I haven't told you... I've been contacted by Greyback. He offered me a place in Voldemort's circle. Brought a letter." Remus snorted. "I wonder how many of the Order were approached like this."

Moody stood, walked over to Remus and looked up, a head shorter.

"I was wondering where Auror Remus Lupin had gone," he said slowly, his voice gruff. "I thought you'd left your balls back on the mainland."

"I could throw you into the ocean if you're unsure about me," Remus offered.

Sirius gently pried them apart. "I enjoy testosterone-driven one-upmanship as much any bloke," he said, "but perhaps we could put that one off for later. Dark Lords require vanquishing."

"I think I'll leave the plotting to you," Remus said, then walked out, leaving the other three to continue deliberating if they wished. He wasn't a strategist anyway.

Struck by a sudden idea, he made his way up to Harry's room. With a decisive pull he took apart the locking charms and opened the door, expecting a view similar to one of Sirius' youthful rampages. Instead, he saw Harry sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, wand pointed at him, an expression of disappointment on his face.

"Damn," he muttered. "I almost had it."

"Sneaking out, are we? I thought the door unlocked too easily."

"I was one spell away."

Remus barked at him to stand. "Move. We're going on another field trip."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Is this one officially approved?"

"What, am I not official enough for you? Shall I lock you in again?" Remus asked. "Without your wand?"

"On second thought, that sounds smashing," Harry agreed, scampering out of the room.

Remus smiled a hungry grin. The leg was making him cranky. It had already started healing, bless the werewolf curse, but even with the Numbing Potion it was irritating.

They went down, Remus taking careful steps, good leg first. Without the Weasleys, the house felt a lot emptier. Quieter too.

"Cloak," Remus said curtly. "The trip isn't, in fact, officially approved."

Harry grinned at him and disappeared under the black-silver cloth. Remus felt a tug at the sight of it – _he looks so much like James_ – but banished it immediately. He summoned a quill and parchment from the living room, penned a short note and left it where he knew Sirius would find it.

Harry poked his head from under the Cloak. "Does anyone know we're leaving?"

"No."

Even greater surprise bloomed on his face, quickly turning to a mischievous smile. "I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one."

Remus winked at Harry and ushered him back under the Cloak.

"Oh, yeah," he muttered to himself. "I'm a real party animal."

~~oOo~~

She excused herself from the company and stumbled into the bathroom, then towards the nearest sink. She leaned on it, gripping the sides of the basin. Her throat burned as though she'd swallowed acid. She expected to retch at any moment. The unpleasant pressure squeezed her stomach, then let go, and she threw up, barely remembering to move her hair out of the way.

She coughed once, twice, but only spit and phlegm came out this time. She continued to dry heave for a minute, but her stomach had already been emptied. The potion they'd given her – something to quicken the process, they said – had smelled horrible and tasted worse. Not disgusting, like something foul, but like something had died – no, like death itself. The essence of Dark magic, so pure and thick it had concentrated into liquid.

Not that she had something against Dark magic. She'd learned too much to remain ignorant, to still see things in black and white. The beginnings had been dangerous, as such studies always were when conducted independently, without direction and guidance, but it was worth it. In the wizarding world, knowledge truly was power.

Suddenly, a prickling sensation seized her arm, quickly growing into an unbearable irritation. She scraped at it, hissing in pain when her nails dug into the still tender skin. She stared at the brand – the skull and snake stared back, eyeless, and yet watchng her all the same.

She looked into the mirror. Her own face, pale and sweaty, blurred in the reflection and turned into someone else's – dark hair, green eyes, _the scar._ Anger welled up in her, her vision was flooded with dark flecks and she lashed out, fist striking the image.

She drew back her hand almost immediately. Ouch. She shouldn't have hit the stupid thing so hard. Face screwed up in a grimace, she pulled out the bits that had stuck in the soft flesh and with a few smart spells fixed her hand, no sign of injury.

Shards of the mirror lay in the sink, painted red. She opened the cold water tap and let it run until the blood was washed away, then, with practiced ease, spelled the broken mirror whole.

She took one more glance at the Mark before she rolled down the sleeve. No one else save for _him_ could see it, but she would rather not look at it either if she could help it. It was an ugly, horrid thing. A scar of her very own.

She cast several more spells until she looked presentable again – those cosmetic charms were a godsend. She had a part to play in this war.

~~oOo~~

It was the last place Harry thought Remus would take him. He just didn't seem the type. All of a sudden, he had to confront his image of the friendly once-Defence Professor, a friend of his parents, with the reality of Remus the werewolf, Remus the occasional Hit-wizard, who had spent a decade tumbling around Europe, doing shady jobs for even shadier people. The two slid together into one image surprisingly easily.

The Knockturn Alley was just as he'd remembered it – it breathed gloom and despair.

Hidden under the Cloak, he followed his silent guide further into the seedier district of Wizarding London, carefully meandering around infrequent pedestrians. Remus never veered even a step off course. He fit right in in his patched coat, and his impressive height persuaded others to clear the way for him instead. It was a sinister skill he shared with Sirius. Harry wondered if it was something that could be learned, or if perhaps it came naturally to people taller than six feet.

Harry wondered if this was going to be a lesson of some kind. Where were they going? And why wasn't Dumbledore – or anyone, for that matter – lecturing him about Pettigrew?

 _Pettigrew._ He felt a shearing cold squeeze his insides. The rat had got only a fraction of what he deserved. Harry itched to give him more, try out a few curses on an appropriately _fleshy_ target... He wasn't stupid, though. They needed Pettigrew alive.

Death comes for all in the end, yes? He could finish later.

He had thought he really wanted to murder Malfoy, but he'd been wrong – Malfoy was a lowlife and deserved to land six feet under, but even him, Harry couldn't honestly say he hated. Or perhaps there were degrees of hatred.

With Peter, there was no need for yelling and intimidation. It was a cold mass that settled in his gut, freezing and yet filling him with a kind of warmth, radiating to his chest, head, limbs. It had tickled his fingers with each strike, like the caress of a warm rainfall. Almost... almost pleasant.

But above all, it was confidence. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he would kill Peter Pettigrew. He'd never done it before – Quirrell didn't really count – but he felt ready. Not jittery and restless, like with Malfoy. It was a need that had formed a hole in him, a hole that had to be filled with the satisfaction he would only get from being the one to end a life, a very particular life. Pain and pleasure, mixed together, a pull whose string he couldn't, wouldn't cut until it brought him back to Peter.

It was something Sirius had told him after Malfoy escaped.

"Violence has an unescapable draw, Harry. Some people flee from it, some embrace it and everything in between. Few know how to _use_ it. We're at war. Sooner or later, you will become a man of violence."

Was this it? Had he become a man of violence?

The Dark Touch, Sirius had called it. Truly, there was no need to fear Dark magic.

...Was his reasoning sound? And Dumbledore really never felt it?

Madness.

He followed Remus still deeper into the district, as he absent-mindedly felt for his wand. Power at his fingertips to make another's life truly miserable. Boil them, skin them, rend the flesh from their bones.

 _Mulciber, is that why you're the Butcher?_

Dear Merlin. Madness, but the best kind. No wonder about the stigma – if everyone gave into it, St. Mungo's wouldn't be able to keep up.

Forgetting that he was supposed to be hidden, he laughed, out loud, not a care in the world. Immediately, a pair of hands yanked him sideways, pulling him into a darkened spot.

Remnants of a smile dancing on his lips, he drew the Cloak back from his head and looked up to see Remus' wand pointing at his nose. Before he could say anything, he felt a wave of intense heat roll over the top of his head and a strange, pulsating sensation in his eyes.

"Don't move," Remus warned, "human transfiguration is awfully tricky. Don't want me to mess it up, do you?"

He stood perfectly still, even as the magic stung and bit and he wanted to claw out his eyes and tear the scalp clean off his skull.

"Alright, done," Remus said finally.

"Bugger _fuck."_

"Good choice of words," Remus said with approval. "Keep that up. You will need it where we're going. And whatever you do, don't try to cancel my spells. I couldn't hide the scar, so the hair and glasses will have to do."

Harry moved his jaw from side to side and massaged his cheeks. His face felt more angular.

 _Weird._

"What do I look like?" he asked.

"Unlike Harry Potter, which is exactly the point."

He followed Remus further, the Cloak now unnecessary. The crowd was a little bigger here, a little livelier. The building they were heading towards looked mostly like all others in the area – from first floor up, the window shutters were closed, the wall peppered with burn marks, huge swathes of paint missing. The ground floor, however, resembled a demented version of The Three Broomsticks.

 _Lovely._

Inside, the establishment was disappointing. Even on the calmest nights, the Leaky Cauldron saw more action. Harry counted merely four patrons, a goblin behind the bar and a lot of empty tables. In the dim lighting, he almost walked into one.

Remus went right past the bar, exchanging a few hushed words with the goblin, then showed him two fingers and pointed towards the bathroom. He beckoned on Harry to follow him there.

"I hope there's more to this place than that," Harry said. "Or did you just need a leak? Because I'm fine, thanks."

Remus didn't respond. Instead he gave him a mysterious smile and pulled the handle next to an old-fashioned toilet. There was no flushing, but the tiled wall moved. The tiles swallowed the toilet whole and folded into an archway, much like Leaky Cauldron's Diagon Alley entrance. They stepped over the threshold and Harry was hit by a wall of noise. As the tiles closed behind them, he surveyed the room.

It was a huge, single space. From where they stood, some stairs led down to the main floor, where what looked like a dueling circle was the centrepiece. Galleries packed with tables ran around the perimeter. Waitresses – all women, all young and attractive – meandered among the cheering patrons, some of whom encircled the arena so tightly that several were pushed inside the circle.

Remus motioned for him to follow. It was much harder to do in this crowd, but soon they found themselves a place fairly close to the arena. Harry drank it all in, his mind racing. Sirius had mentioned trying his luck in underground dueling circuits. Was this one of them?

Two men stepped inside the ring among fervent cheering. One was fairly tall and lean, the other a true beast. Well over six feet, burly, resembling a bear with his immense beard and hairy arms. Neither was carrying a wand.

The lean one rolled up his sleeves above the elbows and gave a theatrical bow. The huge one, to everyone's delight, tore his shirt apart, standing naked from the waist up.

He didn't waste time. With a roar, he charged at his opponent, apparently trying to ram into him. Harry watched with a held breath as the slim combatant, looking entirely out of place in the ring in his white button-down, barely defended himself, only smiling as he was pummelled. Strikes landed on his arms, stomach, he even left himself vulnerable and took one straight on the nose, always laughing it off. Soon, his bear-like opponent began to tire, his strikes came fewer and slower.

In less than three minutes, the lean fighter decided to end the brawl. He met the next hit with one of his own, fist against a fist. The pained expression on the bear-man's face made Harry shiver as a strange vibration ran through him. The burly man cried out in pain, surrendering. The victor stood tall, grinning widely even as blood trickled from his nose. Harry's gaze was drawn to the man's face, his teeth, fangs longer than typical.

In a flash of understanding, everything made sense – the winner was a werewolf.

"For a few coins, you can fight a wolf," Remus explained, leaning in to be heard over the crowd. "You win, you take the prize. The pool is now close to twenty thousand galleons."

Harry did a double-take. "Twenty thousand? How long has it been since someone won?" he shouted back his question.

Remus smiled. "No one ever has. This place has been in business almost thirty years."

"No one? Not once? Not even fighting dirty?"

Remus just gave a snort and went back to his drink.

Harry compared Remus to the last bout's winner. Remus was just as tall and broad. For a second time, he had to reevaluate his opinion of him.

"Have you ever fought?"

Remus nodded. "A few times. It's been years since I visited."

Remus had one of the waitresses refill their glasses. Harry didn't actually know what he was drinking, except that it was non-alcoholic. The next fight began, this one a guaranteed crowd-pleaser. Two against one. The werewolf, although outnumbered, seemed eager to get started.

Harry bombarded Remus with questions.

"This looks _really_ illegal. Can anyone fight? What are the rules?"

"Anyone can fight. Werewolves always represent the house. It used to be one on one only, but I see that they loosened up that rule. The fight takes as long as it has to. And the most important thing – you don't talk about this place."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "If you can't talk about it, how do people get in?"

"Just like you did." Remus nudged his shoulder. "Invited by an insider."

"Who invited you?"

Just then, a shade of a grimace marred Remus' face, though he hid it behind his glass.

"Fenrir Greyback."

Harry decided it was probably a conversation for another time. They went back to spectating – the werewolf won this fight too, both his opponents laying flat on their backs, having lost on attrition.

The words were out of his mouth before he fully knew what he was saying.

"I'd like to try."

Remus clinked their glasses together, then returned them to a passing waitress.

"I was sort of hoping you'd say that."

Harry debated adding _I've changed my mind,_ but Remus was already talking to someone and handing over a few sickles. The wizard eyed Harry up and down, exchanged a few more words with Remus, nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

With a suddenly tight throat, Harry descended the stairs to the ring, becoming more aware with each step what a horrible idea this was.

"Remember what I taught you," Remus was saying in a calming tone, "move with the punches. Feet on the ground. Guard up. And... you're going to lose, so don't take it too seriously. It's just a bit of rough fun."

Accepting his fate, Harry took off his jacket, shoes and socks as instructed, stepping into the circle barefoot, in just his shirt and pants.

Opposite him, a girl who shockingly looked about his age came up, the crowd parting to let her through. She was slim, skinny almost, and an inch or two shorter than him, but Harry could tell she was in better shape then he. Her bare arms flexed with muscles under the tanned skin.

 _Great,_ Harry thought grimly, _I'm going to have my arse kicked by a tiny girl._

She smiled at him sweetly – Harry hated himself for feeling a sudden warmth inside, seeing that smile. He shook his head when he found his eyes wandering towards her waist.

With a taunting gesture, she dared him to approach.

He took a single step forward. The crowd booed loudly. His heart pounding, this small girl still smiling at him, the crowd yelling, he was sweating in seconds, having barely moved.

"Tsk tsk. Shy, are we?" the girl mocked, showing off her teeth in a brilliant grin.

Harry resisted the urge to wipe his forehead. Thankfully, his glasses were spelled to stay firmly on his nose.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" he asked.

The girl shrugged. "I dunno. Come over here, we'll examine the issue _closer."_

Ah, what the hell.

Committing himself to what he was about to do, Harry closed the distance and propelled his fist forward, even as a voice in his head protested him trying to hit a girl. It sounded strangely like Hermione. Then another voice, quite like Ginny's, told him to swing again. He thought this was much better advice.

Keeping his sessions with Remus in mind, he aimed for the girl's stomach, sides, face – she parried each blow effortlessly, keeping up with him as if she were walking in a park. She smiled and laughed while he was running out of breath. Still, he kept up his barrage, not paying attention to the crowd anymore.

He wavered, a strike went off course, another became a glancing blow and he lost steam. The girl seized the opening with merciless precision. She ducked under his last swing and her arm lashed out forward like a snake, the fist finding its target, just below his ribs.

He stumbled as the air was forced out of his chest, depriving him of whatever strength he had left. His next desperate strike didn't even reach his opponent. She danced around him like a panther, taunting him. He knew she was allowing him to catch his breath to prolong his humiliation. He breathed in and the next blow came, just as precise and powerful as the last. He blocked it with the tip of his elbow and his arm jittered from the impact.

Now he was on the defensive, the girl throwing out more frequent strikes, deflecting his own away. He turned sideways, but only caught a fist to the lower back for attempting the manoeuvre. Weakening with each second, he nonetheless stood his ground, too proud to surrender.

And then the girl kicked.

Having adapted to the form of a boxing match, this new mode of attack took him completely by surprise. The girl's foot found the side of his knee and only his lack of breath stopped the howl that crowded itself onto his lips. He fell on all fours, spitting on the floor, then looked up. A fist was flying towards him and the world was swung upside down. He stumbled backwards, propelled by the force of the blow.

The fringes of his mind registered someone helping him stand. The noise was deafening. Dizzy and disoriented, he couldn't tell if the crowd was booing or applauding. He was directed to sit down somewhere, somewhere quiet. The mist of confusion slowly ebbed away.

"Here," he heard Remus' voice and saw a blurry, hand-like shape hovering in front of him. His glasses back on, he could orient himself again.

"Yeah, sorry about your glasses," came another voice. "But you really shouldn't have been wearing them to a fight."

The girl who had beaten him was leaning against the wall near the door. She wore a jacket that had little to do with wizarding fashion and high boots. A wand was peeking out of one.

"If you must gloat," said Harry, "would it be terribly impolite of me to ask that you do so silently?"

The girl stifled a laugh. "Nothing to gloat about. You're not my first, lover-boy," she said, her expression much too lewd to only be talking about the fight. Harry burned up pink at the comment. Give him a dragon to fight any day, talking about _this_ stuff though...

"Remus, are we done here?"

Remus had similarly assumed a relaxed position close to the door. "Not quite. She recognised you."

Harry listened to the muffled but still audible noise of the crowd. They had to still be in the building, perhaps in some private room.

"The Trace won't be any good here, will it?" Harry asked.

The girl went for her wand too, but he was quicker and summoned hers away, not without some satisfaction after the beating he'd taken.

Feeling bruised and battered all over, he hopped down from the table he was sitting on, wand lazily pointed at the girl.

"I say we obliviate her, just to be safe," Harry said. "Too bad the disguise didn't work."

The girl threw up her hands in a defensive gesture, her brashness gone, replaced with a hint of panic. "Hey, no need for that. I won't tell anyone anything!"

"You don't have to. If someone comes looking for answers, they have no need to ask questions."

"Wait!" she cried out. "You said in the ring I looked familiar, right?"

Harry frowned. "Possibly."

"We have met, Potter. First year, back at Hogwarts."

He looked at her, analysing her face, trying to put a name to it.

"Harry, is she telling the truth? Have you met?" asked Remus.

Harry ignored the question, still focused on the girl. If they had met at Hogwarts, why didn't he recognise her? Did she graduate already?

 _No,_ he thought as it came to him, _she left and never came back._

"Sally-Anne Perks," he said slowly, recalling the name. "I thought you transferred to a different school during Christmas our first year. That was the impression McGonagall left us with."

"I wish," Sally said bitterly. "I was bitten."

"I came to Hogwarts already a werewolf and was allowed to stay," said Remus. "Hasn't Dumbledore-"

"I know," Sally interrupted, shooting Remus a hostile look. "Dumbledore talked about you. My parents are _thoroughly_ muggle though. They didn't like what happened. Pulled me out of school. For two years they dragged me to doctors, though never explicitly said what was wrong with me." She spat on the floor. "As if there was anything _wrong._ I had enough of it. I left. Haven't seen them since."

Harry didn't know what to say. Not that he hadn't dreamt about leaving Privet Drive, even seriously contemplated running away a few times, but some semblance of common sense always stopped him in his tracks. Dursleys were better than the street.

Remus steered the conversation. Prodding with careful questions, he coaxed the story out of her. She had been bitten, almost froze to death in winter – her repertoire of spells didn't include the Fire Charm back then. She was found by a wizard who dropped her off here. Soon thereafter, she found herself a new family.

"I should have known," said Remus when she finished her tale. "A werewolf runaway. Not an original story." He gave a solemn nod. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what happened to you."

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "Sorry?" A playful smile bent her lips. "It's the best thing that could have happened. Few will dare mess with a werewolf, and no one's breathing down my neck, telling me to behave and do this and that."

"You.. _like_ being a werewolf?"

Harry could have sworn there was hurt in Remus' voice, as if Sally had offended him.

She smiled again. "What's not to like? The strength, I can eat what I want and never get fat... I'm not complaining."

"The full moon...?"

Sally brushed hair away from her face. "That's what the Wolfsbane Potion is for, dummy."

"How do you get your hands on it?" Remus pressed. "It's not exactly affordably priced."

Sally bared her teeth at him. "I'm not stealing, if that's what you were suggesting. The pack takes care of that, usually. If Grey isn't around, I help around here, win a few fights and Brody fixes me with a dose."

Harry could only guess who Grey was, but judging by Remus' reaction, he guessed right.

"You run with Greyback's crowd?"

Sally tensed, assuming an aggressive stance. "Another whiny wolf? I'm not staying here to listen to lectures." She stomped towards Harry. "My wand, Potter."

Harry didn't move to give it back. If she was in Greyback's pack, she could know something important without being aware of it. Besides, she could let something slip about tonight and the less Voldemort knew about anything, the better. "Sorry. Still debating that obliviation."

She clenched a hand around his wrist in a vice-like grip. "How about now?"

Harry signalled Remus not to intervene even as Sally slowly crushed his wrist.

"Have you been following the news about Dumbledore? About what he's been saying regarding Voldemort? It's true. And Greyback serves him."

The grip loosened. The ceiling lamp's light played on Sally's face and hair, giving her the same fierce appearance Harry knew in Ginny.

"No," Sally said with forced conviction. "I don't know anything about that. I _don't care_ to know. What Grey does when he's not around is his own thing."

"He hasn't tried to recruit you?" Remus took a step towards Sally, who jumped back, her wand forgotten, baring her teeth in a warning growl.

Harry steeled himself, ready to stun her. He'd rather avoid a bloody resolution to this situation and there was no telling what a cornered werewolf might do.

"He must have come sniffing around lately," Remus insisted, "or he will soon, with the herd culled by a few."

Harry didn't correct him. The werewolves they'd captured were still alive, but Remus had to have a goal in lying about it.

As Remus approached Sally, Harry saw the striking contrast between them – Remus towered over her, two heads taller. If she tried something, he could probably catch her and snap her neck with little effort. Evidently Sally knew that too, as she kept backing away towards the far corner.

"One of them was very young. Jeremy. Mentioned a girlfriend," Remus continued. "Know him?"

With a snarl, Sally catapulted herself forward, bowling into Remus with the force of a cannonball. He slid a step back, feet planted firmly on the floor, gathering her into a tight hold. Harry ended the struggle with a quick stunner. Remus placed her gently on the table.

"What do we do with her?" Harry asked.

Remus touched his wand to Sally's temple. _"Obliviate."_

Then he woke her up and hit her with a Cheering Charm, leaving her confused, but safe. Harry placed her wand back in the boot and she gave him a smile and a wink.

"Let's go," said Remus.

They left Sally in the room and pushed through the crowd. Harry accepted a few slaps on the back – _not bad, kid, not bad at all_ – _first time's the hardest_ – nodded, and continued on, trying to attract as little attention as possible.

Back outside in the Knockturn, Remus removed the transfiguration from Harry, found the nearest suitable spot and apparated them out, customarily taking the long way back to Grimmauld Place.

"Before we go inside... I'd appreciate it if you kept this between us. Sirius knows we went somewhere and that's enough."

"Sure," said Harry. "What do I tell Sirius if he asks, though? He will ask."

"Lie," Remus replied, his face a mask hewn from stone. "It's an essential survival skill for a vigilante. Tell him I chewed you out for beating up Peter and we can consider this chapter closed."

Harry consulted his watch. "You chewed me out for three hours?"

Remus put a heavy hand on his shoulder, squeezing just enough to make Harry squirm a little. "If you had gone too far with Peter, that would be a lot of hard work gone to waste. You have to learn to keep your anger in check. There's a time and place to release it. With Peter today wasn't one of those times."

"Yeah, got it," Harry said quickly. Remus let him go.

"Restraint," he continued, "is not just necessary. It's useful. Promotes discipline. That's something that will help you with whatever you end up doing with your life."

Harry decided to risk it. "Sirius doesn't seem to hold restraint in very high regard."

"That's precisely why he spent twelve years in Azkaban.

As Remus went inside, favouring one leg, Harry mulled over his last words, shivering from the chill that travelled down his back.

~~oOo~~

Dell Grayson was nervous.

Guard duty in Azkaban, quite contrary to the instructors' spooky tales, was just about the most mind-numbing, uneventful posting he could imagine. Dementors kept well out of the Aurors' way, preferring the topmost floors, and even when the patrol roster took him up there, the wraiths respected a patronus enough to stay away.

There was a distinct lack of luxuries here – it was always cold, for one. The North Atlantic, paired with the dementors' own magic, had Warming Charms beat by a mile. A warm cloak, preferably enchanted, was a vital piece of equipment while stationed on the island.

The prisoners were docile, for the most part. Some of them tended to scream or bang on the doors, but they quickly tired themselves out trying to raise a ruckus. Nevertheless, a few nutters in the bottom-floor cells would carry on screaming until their throats were bloody raw.

There was little in terms of entertainment. Each week they received a package containing last week's issues of the Daily Prophet and optionally other magazines, if you paid for your own subscription. If it wasn't for dementors, Dell was sure the inmates would continue to go stir-crazy out of sheer bloody boredom. Some of them were clever though. An amateur historian entertained himself by playing out imaginary battles of the Napoleonic wars. Another circled his cell six hundred times a day to keep in shape.

Dell was on the main floor this week, guarding the front door. He wasn't really bored anymore, instead he felt tense and his wand jumped to his hand at the smallest disturbance. Professor Dumbledore's last message had been cleverly hidden in his copy of The Duelist ("a fan's guide in the world of professional circuits"), which arrived earlier today with this week's shipment. When he deciphered it, what he read was enough to keep him on his toes.

 _High possibility of imminent assault on Azkaban._

If only the 'imminent' bit had been more precisely worded. As it was, Dell had been left to wait and keep watch.

In the end, 'imminent' turned out to mean roughly five hours. The dark, cloudy evening had fallen over Azkaban. Dell heard a trio of muffled cracks outside the door.

"The hell?" muttered his fellow guard. Jenkins, a fully-fledged Auror of several years, had been assigned to show Dell the ropes. "We've no visits scheduled for today."

Dell looked for a witty joke, something about higher-ups at the Ministry misreading dates on documents, but the memory of Dumbledore's message took speech away from him. He should have said something, he should have yelled, _Don't open the bloody door!_ He should have stopped Jenkins.

Jenkins backed away from the door, deathly pale, as it swung open further and three figures walked in.

Fenrir Greyback and another Death Eater, this one masked, flanked a wizard that could only be one person. Dell needn't have seen him to realise how apt the description was.

"Good evening," said Lord Voldemort. "May we speak with the Warden?"


	17. CHAPTER FIVE: War Horizon, Part 3

**CHAPTER FIVE: War Horizon**

 **Part 3**

The sunset had been short and unremarkable, curtained by heavy grey clouds. Dragged along from the ocean by a harsh, western wind, they heralded a coming storm. Soon, lightning struck out over water as Mulciber approached the point of the cliff, hanging perilously above the waves breaking on the cliff face. Before he even saw the dementor, the heavens opened, pouring out the first torrents of the rainstorm.

The dementor was there, as had been agreed months ago. It floated motionlessly, just beyond the edge, paying no mind to the weather. Its cloak, tattered, but somehow holding together, billowed as if in a gentle breeze, even as Mulciber's own robe was blown every which way by the gaining wind.

Mulciber felt for the small, smooth stone in his pocket, whispering, _"Pretati"._

As if only now noticing him, the dementor turned slowly to face him. In the quickly darkening evening, Mulciber couldn't see the eyeless face and the abyss-like mouth under the hood. The dementor's face was a stain of darkness against the grey-purple of the horizon.

 _Is it time?_ the dementor asked.

"Yes."

There was a long hiss. Mulciber felt the air around him grow thinner, sucked with great force into the dementor's mouth.

 _You have tried our patience,_ came a reply, the voice only in Mulciber's head, but carrying a bone-deep frost. _Our hunger grows into a fury._

"You knew what the agreement was," said Mulciber. "There was no clear timetable. We're at war. Things will take as long as they need to. You will have the promised souls to prey upon."

Mulciber was sure that if it could, the dementor would be glaring.

"Unless you think someone else will make you a better offer."

 _Very well. We shall uphold the agreement._

Mulciber smiled smugly. "Marvelous. Inform your brethren and get ready. The plan is as had been laid out to you before."

The dementor floated higher, its robes now giving into the growing storm, flailing about its skeletal frame. _We will be ready._

And with that, the dementor shot up, ascending in a spiral before speeding off into the storm. Mulciber watched it until the dark cloak became indistinguishable from the clouds.

He observed the storm with narrowed eyes as rain cut across his face, staring at the point where the dementor had disappeared from view. Allies or not, he hated the goddamn wraiths.

He sniffed the air. There was an electric quality to it. He could only imagine what the storm would look like from this spot on the cliff once the dance of elements began in earnest. Glorious, to stand at the edge of the ocean, witness the fury from a safe position, taking in all of its beauty. There would be no such safety on the island of Azkaban. There would only be a fortress, the very walls trying to kill him and outside, out of view, a storm of the century. He grinned at the thought.

 _I can't wait._

Stoic under the mask and a Warming Charm, he waited patiently for the dementor messenger to return. Throughout the hour, the wind and rain gained strength. The storm had finally come – waves clashed angrily with the rocks jutting out from the foamy waters far below, the wind threatened to knock him off his feet and send him plummeting down to his death, the clouds spat lightning with increasing frequency.

Waiting, he decided, was the worst part of any job, even with such a spectacle to entertain him.

Close to the hour mark the dementor returned, descending from the storm like an omen of something terrible. The symbolism tonight warmed the heart.

 _We are waiting,_ the dementor spoke. _Summon your lord._

For such terrifying hunters, dementors were truly ignorant sometimes. One did not _summon_ the Dark Lord.

Mulciber unfastened the clasp on his sleeve, then pressed his thumb to the Dark Mark. If flared with magical energy, the colour plunging into an even deeper black.

He didn't have to wait long. The Dark Lord apparated before him, pale against the night. Right after him came Fenrir, some of his wolves, and lastly, Malfoy and Macnair.

"The preparations?" asked the Dark Lord.

"Finished," said Mulciber.

The Dark Lord came to the edge of the cliff with Fenrir. Mulciber smiled behind his mask. Fenrir must be relieved, being part of the assault on the main gate. He wasn't very fond of brooms. His recuits would fly to Azkaban and attack from above.

Unfortunately, that meant more waiting. Mulciber traced the group of fliers towards the horizon, almost wishing he were up there with them, until he realised that at least one of them would probably fall off the broom in this weather and have to be helped out of the ocean.

 _I hope it's Lucius._

The three of them stood in the rain, droplets stinging like tiny pinpricks, though Voldemort seemed completely unaffected and Fenrir was aparently enjoying it. Mulciber glanced at the Dark Lord – he looked much better now than shortly after his resurrection months ago. The skin, still pale, was now merely a pasty human complexion instead of the chalk-white, veiny membrane that had looked drawn taut over a human-sized doll. The nose had now been completely reconstructed, thanks to Snape's potions no doubt. And the hair was growing back. In time, he would look no different than the night he killed the Potters, though the broken, snakelike appearance had served its role in the beginning, Mulciber thought.

Then, the Dark Lord spoke, bringing him out of his musings. "It is time."

Mulciber laid a finger on a small cube of smooth obsidian, the portkey to take them to Azkaban. That small thing was an achievement in magic few would appreciate. Magical transport over large bodies of water was particularly troublesome. Apparition was outright impossible and even portkeys had trouble. To create one to take three passengers over the ocean to a heavily protected location such as Azkaban took rare skill.

They landed on the tiny strip of rocky shore extending from Azkaban's foundations, where a small, magically reinforced harbour stood, the last stop of arriving prisoners before being led to the cell. Mulciber threw it a scornful look. How close it had been that he would have occupied one of the cells himself. Fortunately, he had proved superior to Sirius Black that day.

The Dark Lord strode forward, unwary of the gale-force wind tossing about his robes. Mulciber walked behind him, minding his footing on the slippery rock, wet and smoothed by the water, while Fenrir lumbered behind still, his heavy gait hiding the usual swiftness of his movement. Fenrir, Mulciber liked to think, moved like a bear in a ballet routine, and somehow pulled it off.

The front door of Azkaban was unremarkable in itself, but being the largest opening in the outer walls, it stood out. The tiny barred slits that served as windows were many prisoners' only contact with the outside world. In a show of cruelty, the windows were enchanted to keep the prisoners in, but not to keep the cold, wind and rain out.

One of Fenrir's younglings flew by overhead, clearly overeager.

"Get in position!" Greyback barked over the storm and the kid almost swerved into a wall, then immediately flew back up to join the others.

"They lack discipline," the Dark Lord commented, displeased.

"New batch," said Fenrir. "I'll beat them into shape."

Knowing Fenrir, he quite possibly meant literal beatings.

The Dark Lord hammered on the door twice. It opened quickly, the Auror backing away at the sight of intruders. Him and the other guard – a trainee, by the look of him – drew their wands, eyes flicking between Fenrir, himself and Voldemort.

"Good evening," the Dark Lord said conversationally. "May we see the Warden?"

Theatrics, but Mulciber enjoyed them. What was the point in wreaking havoc if you couldn't terrify your enemies?

He spotted the movement in the rookie's eyes before he even bent a finger. Jabbing his wand at him, Mulciber threw the Auror against the wall, where he crashed with an unpleasant sound. The other Auror, who had opened the door, wasn't so lucky. The Killing Curse killed him swiftly, with only a brief flash of green to signify his death.

There was something poetic about it.

"Leave this one alive," the Dark Lord said. "He can be the bearer of the news."

With a nod, Mulciber turned back to the man – kid, really – and flung out his arm, dragging the whimpering victim along.

 _"Petrificus crucifix."_

The Auror was spread-eagled and stuck to the wall as if nailed to a cross, arms drawn painfully straight, almost popping out of their sockets.

Through the door, they crossed the entryway, leading to the most defensible point in Azkaban, the Warden's office. Unfortunately, one of the Aurors must have managed to warn his boss, because the walls suddenly snapped shut in front of Mulciber, catching the Dark Lord in between them.

Mulciber stopped midstride.

"Well," he said, looking uncertainly at Fenrir, "that was new."

Just then, the stone trap shook and a crack divided one of the blocks, which then crumbled into fine dust, followed quickly by the other. The Dark Lord stood amidst the rubble, radiating fury as his temporarily mangled body fixed itself, bones snapping back into place, flesh closing, one leg twisting in a grotesque demonstration of anatomy.

The steel bars of empty, unused cells attacked, some writhing like snakes, others curled together into a battering ram, still others spread agape like fingers of a giant's hand, but they melted under the Dark Lord's fury before any of them could get close enough to do any damage.

At the other end of the hallway, the Warden stopped in the door of his office, wand half-raised, looking as surprised at the events as Mulciber felt. Then something dawned on him – he heard the confirmation in a throaty hiss that escaped the Dark Lord.

 _"Dumbledore,"_ he said, injecting all of his cold, venomous hatred for the man into this one word. "Dumbledore did this."

Rarely could the Dark Lord be surprised and so far, Mulciber knew, only two wizards had managed such a feat. If it was true that a man was defined by the quality of his enemies, then the Dark Lord was a rare wizard indeed.

Dark Lord Voldemort took another menacing step forward and seconds later, claimed yet another nameless victim.

In the Warden's office it was easy enough to look through the master ledger to find the three names assigned to him. While he and Greyback scoured the bottom levels for their finest – Mulciber scoffed – and most loyal comrades, Lucius would be in charge of collecting the few of lower ranks who had gotten caught and resides in cells higher up.

Mulciber almost wished Lucius would fail for some unfathomable reason. Avery, for his calm demeanour, was a sick bastard. Some people the world was truly better off without.

The Dark Lord left quickly, having failed to deactivate the primary defences. The runes on the keystone glowed a bright hot red, the colour of the setting sun. Well within the Dark Lord's abilities, but time-consuming – and certainly not standard Azkaban-grade.

Dumbledore had been busy.

The first trap had set them back with just enough time for the Warden to alert the Ministry.

"Do not fail me," the Dark Lord hissed, then left.

"Lovely," said Mulciber. "The primary defences are still active and I'll wager Dumbledore left more of his surprises. I think we'd best not separate."

Greyback grunted agreement. They entered the dungeon level using the Warden's private lift, which took them to the bottom floor. The chill down here _had_ to be amplified by magic for it to be piercing their robes so easily.

Greyback, as unstoppable as a freight train, walked first, though even he moved with some caution. No matter his sturdiness, no werewolf could recover from sudden flattening.

"Look out!" Mulciber warned, yanking the werewolf back. This time, the walls hadn't moved, ceiling and floor attempting a swift kill instead.

One of Greyback's fingers had been caught between the blocks, moving faster than an object so large and heavy should. To his credit, Greyback didn't howl in pain. With a deep breath, he snapped his hand back, the mangled digit left trapped while he cauterised the wound with a spell.

Mulciber couldn't help himself. "That looks painful, Fenrir. Are you quite alright?"

In response he received a glare and a blast of heat when Fenrir melted for them a path forward with Fiendfyre, right through the stone.

Just past that trap, they went by two empty cells, the heavy iron doors flying off the hinges and twisting together in mid-air, forming a large bull. When it puffed out angrily, bits of screws flew from its muzzle. This time, it was Mulciber's turn.

Adrenaline fueling him, he summoned the discarded hinges, transfiguring them into a spear with which he impaled the bull, nailing the snarling construct to the floor. Another flick of his wand and the metal folded and curled, like burning paper, until only ashes were left.

They moved as quickly as Dumbledore's traps allowed them, carefully disabling all they found – it would be unwise to leave any active. The single unlucky Auror they met down here met a bloody end at the tips of Greyback's claws and teeth.

"Rather inspiring," said Mulciber, "but did you have to rip his throat out so savagely? The poor man did not deserve this."

"Did your balls drop off, Butcher?" the werewolf challenged.

Mulciber scoffed. "Hardly. But as a Hit-wizard I've come to value a quick, clean kill."

"Fuck off, Jervis."

Mulciber couldn't help but chuckle.

Soon, they found the first cluster of cells from their list. Alecto and Amycus lumbered out of their cells with all of the vigour of inferi, heads bowed, saying nothing. It was impossible to tell if Azkaban had affected them so much or if they were being their usual, silent selves.

On the other hand, Dolohov seemed lively enough.

"Freedom at last," he said cheerfully in a perfect English accent, despite his Eastern-European roots. He flexed his fingers and assumed a nonchalant pose, even as he stepped barefoot on the ice-cold floor.

"Marvelous to see you," said Mulciber, taking off his mask and tipping an imaginary hat. Dolohov, he thought, had always been the only other one who took pleasure in the little things.

"Likewise, Jervis."

"You can kiss later," growled Greyback. "We've got a job to do."

"I have something for you," Mulciber said, while Greyback shepherded the twins up front. He pulled a wand from his robes, handing it over and watched with a smile as Dolohov caressed it gently, for the first time in years.

"I thought that was lost to me," Dolohov said.

"It very nearly was," Mulciber replied. "I barely switched it for a copy before it was destroyed."

Dolohov smiled, baring his teeth in a yellow, Azkaban grin. "You have my deepest thanks, friend."

Pleasure. The little things. Camaraderie. _I'm beginning to remember why I joined this merry band in the first place._

Dolohov gleefully took part in disassembling whatever Dumbledore's traps threw at them, even though his magical prowess had waned from imprisonment. Still, he made up for his temporary shortcomings with attitude.

Finally, they reached the bottom spiral of the winding corridor, the literal deepest, dankest hole in Azkaban. Mulciber cut and burned his way through the last of Dumbledore's transfigurations.

"Get the others," he ordered Greyback and headed for the last door in the far side of the hallway. The door wouldn't budge, so he simply removed the wall along with it.

The cell was long and narrow, maybe four feet across, and sloping down away from the door, designed to be as unpleasant as possible without employing actual torture. He stood where the door had been, coaxing the prisoner out of the darkness with his presence. Slowly, a creature of the night emerged, skeletal hands with painfully curled nails scraping the walls, the hair a mess of paled curls, face gaunt.

Bellatrix Lestrange grinned at him, an eerie, frightening sight.

"Hello, Jervis. Did you miss me?"

~~oOo~~

With a laboured tangle of his wand, sweat pouring down his forehead, Harry tried to keep the brewing spell in his grasp. It was tricky; tug to hard and the delicate thread he was weaving would snap, but let the grasp become too faint and it would get away from him, all the work amounting to nothing despite the magic being used. Miscasting was the worst possible outcome – the spell could be just as dangerous for the caster as it was supposed to be for the victim. Though it seemed to be a particular curse, he couldn't say it was what Sirius had told him to do precisely. He was learning that books were full of more general guidelines than hard rules.

With a final push, he layered the magic over his target, not seeing but feeling it, like a delicate shroud falling over the creature's tiny heart, smothering it.

The rat turned up its nose at him, giving no other sign of knowing anything at all had happened. The casting, though it seemed as though much more time had gone, lasted no more than a moment. a single heartbeat.

Then, the rat began squealing, shaking. With an irritated jab, Harry silenced, then paralised it. He couldn't yet string spells together like he had seen Order members do, but it was getting easier by the day to move from one manipulation of magic to another.

He waited thirty seconds, forty... finally, the rat died in a gory display of popping veins, crimson-red crystals piercing its skin. Harry picked up one of the pieces. The magic had worked as intended, freezing the rat's blood into ice inside of it.

Disgust mixed with satisfaction and a dozen other emotions, he kicked the dead rat aside. Buckbeak, treading the yard to straighten his legs before a promised evening flight, snatched the rat, swallowing it whole, then gave Harry a stern look.

"I didn't tell you to eat it," Harry said.

Rats, a common urban variety, were a convenient target for practice. He'd killed a good two dozen of them in the last hour as he recovered from his trip to the fighting ring. The others left him alone. Even Dumbledore said nothing, though Harry made no effort to hide what kinds of spells he was using. They were varied in casting techniques and effects, some not originally intended for the particular purpose he was pursuing. The common denominator was death.

Thinking of Malfoy made Harry grit his teeth and curl his palms into fists – he wanted to make him squeal. Pettigrew drew nothing close to that reaction. He'd love to peel away the layers, draining the life out of him, until all that was left was a sack of meat and bones, all trace of the person that was Peter Pettigrew gone.

Dead. Vanquished. _Erased._

Voldemort feared death, Harry thought, in a very smart way. What was the point of doing all the Dark Lord had done? Some people feared simply not being alive. Voldemort feared not mattering, anxious to leave his mark on everything – and everyone – he touched.

It was a strange feeling, but Harry understood it. One some level, he had began to emulate it. No matter what he did, there were things he must do, at the cost of everything else if it came to it. Pettigrew. Voldemort. Perhaps a few others, for his own satisfaction. He didn't want to die before he killed Voldemort. It was something he had only recently realised.

It made him uneasy. He couldn't name the feeling. Was it uncertainty? Anticipation? What did taking a life feel like?

Rats, he found, were a poor substitute. There, in the basement, once Pettigrew went unconscious, he was alone for a moment, before the door burst open. He wondered – just pick up the knife over there, stick him with it. Experimentally. What did it feel like to pierce foreign flesh, to take another's life?

His dilemma was so far unresolved. In a perverse twist of thought, he imagined finding a beggar, homeless, to practice on like he did with rats. It had scared him, turned him away when he was just stepping out of the yard. He had no _reason_ to kill a random stranger! Where the hell had that come from?

He had calmed down, now more confused than anything else.

With a mastered flick, he cast the Summoning Charm. Yet another rat came flying from the alley between nearby buildings. He knew they came from an open sewer there – probably a colony nearby.

The rat landed at his feet and immediately tried to scurry away into the grass. Harry took quick, precise aim.

 _"Avada Kedavra."_

A flash of green later the rat was dead and he still felt nothing.

Sirius, Dumbledore and Moody were still deliberating, having moved to the library so as to vacate the kitchen. Harry went inside, an idea coming to him to fix himself a sandwich. The kitchen wasn't empty. Sturgis Podmore sat at the long table with a Butterbeer and the Evening Prophet. The Hit-wizard winked at him in greeting, then went back to reading.

Harry lasted almost five minutes before he broke the silence. "You seem cheerful."

Sturgis set down the Prophet. "I was wondering when you would speak."

"Everyone else is on the edge of their seats," Harry said. "Even Sirius."

Sturgis furrowed his brow. "Sirius is rarely at ease. It's just an image he projects. Doesn't want to worry others."

"Why hasn't he told me, at least? I thought he trusted me."

Sturgis seemed sympathetic. "Right now, you may be the only person he trusts, apart from Remus. I don't think he even trusts himself."

The reason, Azkaban, remained unspoken between them.

"I thought now that we've got Pettigrew, things would move faster, instead-"

"They're not?" Sturgis asked with a wry smile. "You'll find, Harry, that most of the time in war, not much happens. Exciting things only come about once in a while. Unless you facilitate them yourself, of course, but even then there's a lot of planning, strategising and sitting around involved."

"I just wish I could do something, you know?"

With a grin, Sturgis said, "No offence, but after your last stunt, I think you'll be put n reserve for a while. You really could have killed Pettigrew. That would've screwed up lots of planning. Sirius and Remus invested a lot of effort into catching him."

"I know!" Harry slapped a hand on the table, trying not to destroy something. Restraint, Remus had said. Was that the proof they needed from him? "How long do you think it'll all take?"

Sturgis took a swig of his beer. "By all, you mean..."

"Pettigrew, the whole thing. Until we can stick it to Fudge and I can go back to Hogwarts."

From somewhere in the house there came a loud bang, then muffled shouting. Harry barely paid it attention. How Sirius made Kreacher behave himself was Sirius' business.

"As long as it needs to, I imagine," said Sturgis. "Right now, there's an Auror hit squad there, but no one says you can't make a cautionary visit."

For a moment, there was excitement, which quickly died down. "Even if I wanted to, we don't have a way to communicate."

"Not a problem." Sturgis stood from his seat. "Can your friends sneak out to Hagrid's?"

Shortly, a message had been sent to Hagrid by whatever means the Order was using to exchange them, then came a reply.

 _Sent Hermione an owl. Reckon I'll be hearing from them soon. Come on over._

Before Harry could ask, Sturgis apparated them both to a clearing in the Forbidden Forest, a short way from Hagrid's house. Harry trudged along Sturgis under the Cloak, spotting a black and silver medallion being replaced into one of Sturgis' coat's many pockets.

"So you've got one of those too, huh?" Harry asked. "Dumbledore took mine away," he added, somewhat put out.

"Sirius has it, most likely," Sturgis replied. "There's only a limited number of these babies. Dumbledore cooked up as many as he could before Algie Croaker asked for his prototype back."

Harry looked up, surprised. "He can't make more? He's... he's Dumbledore."

Sturgis chuckled at the remark. "I'm sure it would stroke his ego, but you have to realise, the Unspeakables took years to develop the magic powering those things. No doubt Dumbledore could work out the framework if he had a few spare weeks, but he doesn't."

"But he made more, so why-"

"He copied Croaker's. That doesn't impart knowledge on how the enchantments were interconnected. Without the blueprint, you'd have to know exactly what you're doing. Dumbledore is not a god. He's just better than everyone else."

Hagrid let them in through the back door, sweeping Harry into a hug. "Harry! 'Ow are yeh? Haven' been to see me in a while."

"Yes, sorry about that," said Harry, fending off Fang's unwanted affections. "A lot has happened."

Hagrid waved it off, smiling under his immense beard. "Dun worry 'bout tha', yeah? S'great to 'ave yeh. Sit down, tea'll just be a minute."

They sat as Hagrid bustled in the kitchen, looking for cups and plates which he heaped with his rock cakes. Harry took one out of politeness, nibbling at it carefully.

A rather pathetic looking owl dove inside through a slit in the half-opened window. It landed on the table, one wing clipping the plate of pastry. It hopped across the table towards Hagrid, flapping its wings, vying for attention. Harry knew Hedwig would disapprove of such behaviour, but then she was uncommonly stoic, even for an owl.

"Oh, Harvey's back," said Hagrid, noticing the frazzled bird. He set the fuming teapot on the table with a thump that rocked the plate of rock cakes.

Harvey shot Harry a challenging glare of his yellow, hawk-like eyes.

"Ah, yeah, 'e likes to show off a bit," Hagrid added.

Harry accepted the rolled up parchment and read the message.

 _We'll be there in fifteen minutes._

Smiling at Ron's scraggly handwriting, he chucked the letter into the fire as Hagrid poured him a giant mug of tea. If it was as hot as it looked, he'd be drinking it for a while.

He drank his tea, searing his lips or tongue a few times, making smalltalk with Hagrid, but mostly leaving that to Sturgis. He half-listened as they talked about werewolves (Remus and Greyback), Alpine giant tribes (Macnair had got to them) and, for some reason, the dwindling nundu population in Africa (poachers, hiring huge hunting parties), while some of the poisonous felines found quite a nice home in the Asian tropics.

Harry watched the wobbly grandfather clock next to the stove, counting with it as minutes ticked away. He was thirteen and twenty-eight seconds in when there was a knock on the door. Hagrid hurried to it, a greeting halfway out of his lips.

"Come in, yer little ras-"

He stopped, yanked the door closed again, only to open it a second time.

"Hagrid, is everything quite alright?"

"Alrigh', yeah, p'fesser, everythin's fine..."

Harry almost choked on his tea in panic as Professor Flitwick waddled inside.

"Our Wednesday evening tea, have you forgotten?"

He reached up to pet Fang (the dog was taller than him) and turned to Harry.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," he said with a wink, then, with a little magic, sat himself at the table, the chair's legs growing to elevate him above the tabletop. "You seem to be a rather wanted person at the moment."

There was a bit of awkward silence until Flitwick pleaded with Hagrid to close the door, lest he let all the warmth out.

"And Mr. Podmore," Flitwick continued, "how nice to see you as well. You've been back in England long?"

"Not long, Professor," said Sturgis, face and voice neutral. Harry wondered what the joke was, or if there even was one. "Several weeks. Been around Germany for a few months before that."

"A Hit-wizard noted in your secret ratings, I hear," Flitwick said with aplomb. "I always did say you would excel in whatever you chose to pursue."

Sturgis raised his tea to the man. "That's very kind of to say."

Harry was thoroughly confused. "You're... not going to tell the Aurors I'm here, Professor?"

Flitwick raised his furry eyebrows. "I believe the Aurors are perfectly capable of finding a student in a school."

"He's not technically in the school," Sturgis pointed out.

"That's Auror Robards' problem. Anyway..." Flitwick waved his wand and the teapot filled a cup for him. "How is Sirius doing?"

The joke clicked in Harry's head.

"You're in the Order!" he exclaimed, to the raucous laughter of everyone else.

"One of its founding members, in fact," said Flitwick, with no small amount of pride. "I'm told your progress has been spectacular. Albus can't say enough good things about you."

There was another knock and this time, Hermione, Ginny and Ron were on the doorstep. Seeing Flitwick, they looked unsure until Harry waved at them, smiling.

"Aha. This seems to be the hub of Hogwarts' night life tonight," Flitwick said.

Harry easily joined the impromtu routine, coaxing his friends into the conversation until Ron finally said, "Wait... you're in the Order too?" Harry laughed with the others.

"Now that the formalities have been observed," said Flitwick, "I think we shall let the youth discuss their plots amongst themselves. Who fancies a walk?"

"Actually, let's go get some fresh air, guys," Harry said. "Really hot in here."

They followed him out back, through Hagrid's pumpkin plot and to an elevated spot, with a magnificent view of the lake and forest and Hogsmeade in the distance.

The evening was pleasant. Despite the chill in the air which turned their breaths into a fog, and a breeze-like wind from the lake, Harry sank into comforting silence. He breathed in, the cold air cooling his throat.

"Crazy day, wasn't it?" Ginny asked. She bumped shoulders with him. He glanced to the side, a smile playing on her lips. For once he didn't mind that she was as tall as him when he leaned in closer.

Ron gave them a whole four seconds before he cleared his throat.

"Try not to swallow her tonsils, mate," he said.

"I'm surprised you even know tonsils are," Ginny snapped and turned back to Harry, now even more eager. In a corner of his vision, before he closed his eyes, Harry saw Ron rolling his eyes at them.

Their snog went uninterrupted for a while until Hermione spoke up.

"We really do have things to talk about though."

Ginny fixed her with a glare. "Can't the world wait a minute while I kiss my boyfriend?"

Harry wouldn't admit it, but he felt his stomach do a flip when he heard the word – boyfriend. _Merlin,_ he thought, not sure if he was more nervous or pleased. He did know, however, that he very much enjoyed how Ginny looked, her silhouette against the starlit sky.

"I suppose I'll talk first," he said. "I bet my news is bigger than yours."

He described his vision and related what he knew about Nurmengard – there were deaths, including Gellert Grindelwald, Dumbledore sorted things out with the Germans.

"Grindelwald... dead," Ron repeated, tasting the words. "I think that's... I dunno, but it's something."

"Did they get a chance to talk to him before he died?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "Apparently Voldemort's snake did him in while the battle was going on. But that's not all. I tried to join the trip to Germany," he said and was immediately drowned out by a chorus of voices, all telling him how stupid that was. "Yes, yes! – I know, alright? I didn't go anyway. Sirius took me along on a hunting trip instead."

"Hunting?" Ron asked, a confused frown on his face. "What were you hunting?"

Harry grinned. "We caught a rat. A great, fat thing. Two hundred pounds, at least."

The implication was clear. As it dawned on the rest, Ginny slipped her hand in his, squeezing comfortingly.

"I don't know if I should say I'm sorry or that I'm happy you got him," Hermione said.

He almost told them about what he had done to Pettigrew, but thought better of it. Everyone had their secrets. He needn't share every visceral detail. And he'd rather not break his word to Remus. Their visit to Knockturn was no one else's business. In any case, it would be awkward having to explain the entire thing.

The image of Sally flashed before his eyes. Ugh. He'd rather not find out if Ginny was the jealous type.

"I'd rather you were happy about this," he said. "If the Order plays the cards right – and we will – the court will put him in Azkaban for the rest of his miserable life."

Though if he had anything to say about it, Pettigrew wouldn't reach his cell. But they didn't need to know that, either.

"So what's the plan now?" asked Ron.

"I don't know. They're keeping it under wraps," Harry said, somewhat bitterly. "Even Sirius isn't talking. I hate not knowing these things."

"I think you'll find out sooner rather than later," said Hermione. "It's about Sirius and Pettigrew, and your parents. You'll be involved, you'll have to know what is being done."

"I hope so," said Harry. "Right now, it's a discussion behind closed doors. Literally."

With that, the conversation turned around to Hogwarts.

"Things happened quickly once the Aurors showed up," Ron said. "Started talking to people, teachers, students. A few trashed our dorm. Tried to make off with your trunk."

Harry's stomach dropped.

"-didn't go so well for them," Ron finished.

"What happened?"

"Flashbang Hex, right in the bugger's face." Ron seemed very pleased.

"Not so fast, brother." Ginny was quick to fill in the blank spaces Ron had glossed over.

"Are you in trouble?" Harry asked when she finished.

"We don't know for sure," she said. "McGonagall banned the Aurors from the Gryffindor Tower. For all they know, we're in the dorms, hiding from their pesky questions."

"We sneaked out," Ron added. "Classes were called off today, McGonagall made the announcement at dinner. Probably tomorrow too, long as the Aurors are in the castle."

"I don't think this is random," Hermione said. "This would play into the Order's hands, show that Fudge's interference disturbed the school's normal functioning. It would be quite clever, if that's the case."

"But easy to see through," Harry disagreed. "I doubt Fudge planned for the Aurors having to stay in the castle. Apparently this was supposed to be a quick snatch and grab."

"And lastly," said Hermione, "Daphne Greengrass wants to speak with you, in person. Not the Order, not Dumbledore – you."

 _Me? What would she want with me? Unless she works for Voldemort too._

"Greengrass..." he mused. Sirius had mentioned the Greengrass family in passing. According to him, they were as slick as the Malfoys and if they had ties to Voldemort, they had never been caught. "No Death Eaters from that family – none that we know of, at least. Any idea what she wants?"

There were none.

"If they are being pressured by Voldemort and want asylum, they'd go to Dumbledore, wouldn't they?" Hermione asked. "This has to be something more personal to her. Why else would she want to talk to a student? No offence, Harry."

"I can't meet with her anyhow until the business with Pettigrew is sorted out. It's going to be big."

They fell into a heavy silence, each trying to make sense of things in their own way. Harry looked up at Hogwarts. The castle stood dark and majestic at the top of the hill, a monolith of magic. The Gryffindor Tower was faintly illuminated by light spilling from the windows.

The four of them were content to silently enjoy each other's company. They stood close together in a half-circle. Harry smiled when Ginny rested her head on his shoulder.

 _I could get used to this._

They were interrupted by Sturgis, who approached them quickly, all trace of the previous humour gone. "I hate to interrupt, but I have to take Harry back to London, right now."

"Why? What's going on?"

Sturgis ignored the questions, reaching for the portkey medallion. Before they departed, the Hit-wizard turned to Hermione. "Before I forget, your communication problems – you need the Protean Charm."

"Of course!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in sudden realisation. "How could I not-"

Harry didn't hear the rest because Sturgis whisked him away to Grimmauld Place.

"There'll be chaos for a few hours," Sturgis said.

"Can you at least tell me-"

"Azkaban is under attack."

~~oOo~~

Evenings in the Auror Office were quiet affairs most of the time. All range of people, from Head Auror to the lowliest rookies who had just earned their own desk worked – or procrastinated – in the solitary silence of their cubicles (though Captains, like the Head Auror, had private offices).

Tonks couldn't believe how much paperwork there was to take care of. She hadn't been on the force for two years, but her tiny desk was almost invisible under the mountain of rolls of parchment, reports, legal references she'd requested copies of, memos from coworkers.

This evening was a rare one, when something big happened.

One end of the large hall was dominated by a detailed map of the Ministry's jurisdiction. Special attention was given to several key locations – larger wizarding population centers, wizarding districts in major cities, the Ministry, Hogwarts. And, a little ways off the northern coast of Scotland, Azkaban.

Tonks was uneasy. Dumbledore had made it clear – with Pettigrew in their hands and the Order's intervention in Germany interrupting Voldemort, Azkaban was the logical next step. They'd known for months that Voldemort was preparing for an attack there – Azkaban was a treasure trove for him. Some of the cells were occupied by Voldemort's elite Death Eaters. It was only a matter of time before Azkaban was attacked. The Order had taken what precautions they could.

The time had come fourteen minutes past eleven.

A horn started howling, making everyone jump in their seats. Tonks stared at the map for a moment before an impulse sparked her body into motion. Red concentric rings glowed a bright red on the map, zeroed in on the island of Azkaban. She bolted from the chair, one of the first to do so.

The door of Kingsley's office flew open, stopping at the wall with a loud bang.

"Whoever's here, grab an emergency portkey and get yourselves to Azkaban!" he yelled, his amplified voice reverberating from the walls, rising above the commotion. "You, you, you and you, get the brooms from the locker, we'll need eyes in the air!"

Tonks didn't listen to whatever else Kingsley was shouting, she was already rushing to the gear storage area. There, two Aurors were nervously trying to prepare the portkeys for the journey to Azkaban. As soon as the first one was ready, she grabbed it from the other Auror's hands, forgetting she could have taken someone along.

She was whisked away with enormous force, counting seconds as she traveled over England, Scotland and the Atlantic and finally the portkey deposited her in the mess hall.

The room seemed untouched, except for the shattered door and an unmoving Auror lying in a heap up against the opposite wall. She hurried to him and checked the pulse. It was faint and he most likely had a cracked skull judging by the head wound, but he would live, provided he received medical attention at once. She placed the portkey on his barely rising chest and sent the man back to the Ministry, then bolted out of the room.

In the hallway, the signs of battle were abundant. Debris everywhere, entire walls decimated, steel bars ripped out like veins torn from the body. Tonks turned left, memories of her own Azkaban posting sharp and clear in her mind. It was the way to the Warden's office. As she ran, she heard the next portkey land in the mess hall.

She skidded to a halt – the office was in surprisingly good shape, only the filing cabinet had been gutted, the folders littering the floor. The master ledger lay open on the desk. The keystone glowed brightly with the magic of the runes etched into it, as strong as ever. They hadn't destroyed it?

A single glance answered her question. This wasn't the rune scheme she remembered seeing during her time here – frankly, it looked beyond the ability of anyone at the Ministry, save perhaps for the Unspeakables...

She had little time to ponder the mystery, however, because two groups of people entered the office, suddenly making it very crowded.

Behind her, a few of her colleagues came in through the front door. In front of her, the Warden's private lift arrived with the clank of metal. She took a step back, only now spotting the Warden lying motionless behind the desk. She couldn't tell if he was breathing.

As the lift's doors opened, a grim looking ensemble stepped out, led by the Butcher himself.

Tonks gripped her wand tighter, rising it towards the Death Eater. Seeing this, Mulciber grinned in a way that stirred a primal instinct in her gut, telling her to turn around and run. She tried to back away further, but bumped into someone. She swore quietly, but loud enough to be heard in the strangely still room.

"What a mouth on that one," said one of the men wearing prison rags. Tonks recognised him from the pictures she'd studied. He looked much different in them, clean shaven, in expensive robes, but the man in front of her had the same look of superiority on his face. Dolohov's lip twitched, showing off his yellow teeth. He raised a wand as well.

 _Must have scavenged it from an Auror._

To Dolohov's right, Bellatrix Lestrange grinned at her like some nightmarish ghost, armed with a wand and a small knife, which she twirled absent-mindedly in her left hand. The other Lestranges and the Carrow twins fanned out behind, unarmed, but somehow looking just as dangerous. At the front of the group, Mulciber and Dolohov, though both tall, were dwarfed by the giant, barrel-chested Fenrir Greyback.

"Well, we must be off," said Mulciber. It was the spark that lit the fuse, setting off a battle in the confines of the office.

Tonks couldn't tell which curses were coming from which side, just that her shield barely held out against the onslaught before cracking the instant she dove behind the desk, cushioning her fall with the Warden's body.

Six Aurors against four Death Eaters and they could scarcely get off a spell of their own.

Crouching, Tonks quickly circled the desk, manoeuvring to flank the opponents, but Mulciber noticed her and with a wide, sweeping move sent the desk hurtling at her colleagues, setting it aflame mid-flight. The attack had come unexpectedly, taking two of the Aurors out of the fight. Greyback jumped up to the third, snapping his neck with a sharp backhand, while Dolohov landed a precise cutting curse, splitting another one in two, from head to groin.

Tonks leapt into action to aid her last remaining ally, but was handily stopped in her tracks. She didn't even know what happened, really. The Death Eaters were dangerous individually. Four of them worked together like a well-oiled machine, cutting through a group of fully-trained Aurors like paper.

The last Auror fell down in a small fountain of gore as Greyback performed his characteristic execution, ripping the man's throat open. Mulciber deflected Tonks' last spell away into the ceiling and used his momentum to pirouette closer and deliver a kick to her temple.

The blow to the head sent her flying back, though she held onto her wand. Someone grabbed her wrist, prying it from her fingers and then she felt a cold blade on her cheek.

"Have we met before, my sweet?"

Bellatrix's hot breath flooded her nostrils, the stench overpowering. Tonks tried to shake her off, but her aunt just pressed the blade into her skin, drawing blood. Tonks hissed in pain and abandoned the struggle. It didn't mater anyway. There were three more armed Death Eaters behind Bellatrix.

Under Bellatrix's elbow, Tonks saw someone else enter the room, stepping carelessly over the dead Aurors. Bellatrix's attention was immediately on the newcomer.

"My Lord..."

"Not now, Bellatrix."

Tonks turned her head, dread filling her. There was Voldemort, in the flesh.

Was this the end? Despite her profession, she'd never imagined she would die in line of duty. She wasn't ready to leave this world yet.

For the briefest moment, Voldemort met her gaze and she felt as if something inside her curled up, shriveled and died, like a part of her soul had been frozen by that single look. Then he raised his wand and the wall behind her was blown out, exposing the room to the storm. The edge of the floor crumbled away as well, falling into the raging waves below. She fell too. Bellatrix and her knife quickly shrank to a tiny blur high above as Tonks plummeted towards the razor-sharp rocks.

Panic settled in lightning-fast as she recalled the still functioning wardstone, anchoring the anti-apparition enchantments. Against all reason, she tried anyway, disapparating just before she would have hit the rocks.

~~oOo~~

 _Amazing,_ thought Percy, _how a good day can go so wrong so fast._

He had come to the Ministry to learn the old and ignoble art of politics. He had never done anything by half – he wanted to excel at it.

Today, he had done his work, got home, then sent an owl to the address given to him by Kingsley, letting the bird out from a secluded spot near the trash containers. His report detailed Fudge's latest misdoings. The Auror assigned to observe him, one of those who knew their way around the muggle world, had been sufficiently distracted by a few tricks he'd picked up from Tonks. Bizarrely, he enjoyed that bit of spycraft.

He had settled in for a tranquil evening in front of the pleasantly crackling fireplace with a Butterbeer, the Evening Prophet and a Weird Sisters record playing. It had been a long day. Recently, the Minister's staff were often working overtime. Alas, his quiet relaxation was not to be.

Being Fudge's Senior Assistant – his latest promotion, still fresh – afforded some privileges, such as access to some of the more interesting records in the Ministry's archives. Unfortunately, it also meant that in emergencies, he had to be available around the clock.

The fireplace belched the flames outward as they turned green.

"Weasley!" a voice barked from the Floo connection. Percy jerked, spilling some of the Butterbeer on his shirt. With a grimace of disgust, he put it down on the table. He recognised the face suspended in the flames as one of Fudge's new bodyguards, a replacement for Dawlish while he was at Hogwarts. He really hated it when people he technically outranked addressed him in such a manner.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Don't know, but the Minister wants you back in right away."

Percy nodded. Work was work. "I'll be there shortly."

"Right away!" the Auror thundered once again and closed the connection.

Percy paid the man's rudeness little mind. One couldn't move in the highest echelons of government without developing a thick skin. A year ago, he would have taken offence to the tone. A year ago, he had been working on a report on the thickness of cauldron bottoms.

It was the work of moments to change into fresh clothes, collect his wand and bag and hop into the Floo. He exited into the Ministerial wing, greeted by chaos. Taken aback, he glanced at the enormous clock suspended above the door that lead to the general areas of the Ministry. It was nearing midnight. What had happened that had all these people in such a rush at this hour?

On his way to the office, he was nearly trampled by a furious Rufus Scrimgeour and his entourage of several senior Aurors and other officials from DMLE. Scrimgeour stormed out of Fudge's office, paying little attention to people scrambling out of his way.

Someone pulled Percy inside, offering no explanation.

"Ah, Weasley, you're here – very good."

The Minister's senior staff and protective detail had gathered in the room. The Minister himself was visibly distressed.

"Well, now that we're all here..." Fudge was kneading the bowler hat in his sweaty hands. "I'm going- _Britain_ is going to need all of our efforts tonight. A tragedy has struck, one of unprecedented proportions."

Fudge looked around, as if hoping someone would deliver the news in his stead. "Azkaban has been attacked by Dark forces less than an hour ago."

There was a chorus of gasps, which quickly died down at Fudge's urging.

"More Aurors are arriving on the scene right now. I'm told there is... there is a Dark Mark above Azkaban..."

"Was it Sirius Black?" someone asked.

Fudge's anxious gaze spoke more than a thousand words. "Unclear," he said. "I want to make it clear that these are only unfounded rumours at this point... Someone else was involved. An immensely powerful wizard, but as far as we can tell, it wasn't Black."

Percy looked around the room. Someone had to ask the question. It might as well be him – he already knew the answer.

"Was it You-Know-Who?"

The room fell into silence, all hushed conversations cut, all eyes on him. Fudge glared at him with a hint of betrayal. If Percy had ever been Fudge's man, it had been before he'd found out about being spied upon and being asked to spy on others.

"Of course not!" Fudge blustered. "I can't believe anyone on my staff would give heed to this nonsense! You-Know-Who has been dead for years!"

Percy was spared further scrutiny by someone else's question.

"Then who was it, sir? One of the old Death Eaters taking charge?"

"Possibly. I can't imagine anyone else would want to-" The Minister faltered and fell silent for a moment. "Several high-profile prisoners have been freed by the attackers. The Lestranges, the Carrows..."

The exaggerated gasps sounded, Percy thought, almost comical.

The Minister had nothing else to say at present. Percy was the first out of the room. He made sure to pick a good spot in the Conference Room as it filled with people arriving for the emergency Cabinet meeting. Directors sat around the table, while Aurors and senior staffers and assistants stood around the perimeter.

Last to arrive was Scrimgeour. He ignored the Minister's greeting and jabbed his wand at a map of Azkaban, which unfurled before the gathering. There were several thick arrows in different colours marked on it.

"The first warning we got came from the Warden of Azkaban, from his office here," began Scrimgeour, pointing with his wand. The image on the map rotated to give a better angle. "At first, the signal had been quickly deactivated, so we assumed it was a malfunction. It is now more likely it was interrupted in some way. It was set off again by one of the garrison members."

"So far, we know what little the sensors picked up, new information is steadily coming in. Somehow, the anti-apparition enchanments were breached, completely bypassing the keystone in the Warden's office. It took a powerful wizard to craft such magic. Algernon has people working on it already."

Percy listened with rapt attention as Scrimgeour continued. Dementors gone. The garrison dead, save for one. Then the Director recited the full list of missing prisoners, each name drawing a reaction of its own.

"Aurors Grayson and Tonks both confirm that Fenrir Greyback was present. Auror Tonks also placed a man looking remarkably like Jervis Mulciber in the Warden's office, where a violent fight took place. Lastly," Scrimgeour thundered, rising his voice above the murmur of the crowd, "Auror Tonks has sighted a wizard of following characteristics: tall, well above six feet, pale, unusually bright red eyes. He wielded a wand matching the description of the one once used by You-Know-Who, which was stolen from the Department of Mysteries last year."

Scrimgeour didn't give them time to let the revelations sink in. "This wizard removed the outer wall of the Warden's office – and I remind you, the keystone has not been touched. That couldn't have been a simple Blasting Hex. You have the floor, Barty."

"Rufus, would you please-" Fudge said, but Crouch interrupted him.

"Just before the alarm was raised in Azkaban, I received some troubling news from a colleague of mine in Germany. Nurmengard has been attacked earlier today, around midday. Seventeen Aurors were killed... and one prisoner. Gellert Grindelwald."

Even Percy was surprised by _that._ Grindelwald, dead? If that wasn't a sign that times were changing, then nothing was.

Undeterred, Crouch continued. "The initial reports place Greyback and the tall, pale wizard there as well. By all accounts, he successfully held an entire flank in the battle, by himself. But most incredibly, the Germans were saved from total disaster by the sudden arrival of a group of combatants led by Albus Dumbledore."

Crouch directed his stare at the Minister. It was a cold, hard look. Fudge seemed to shrink in his seat.

"Cornelius, it's time to admit your mistake. Lord Voldemort has returned."


	18. CHAPTER SIX: Turning Point, Part 1

**CHAPTER SIX: Turning Point**

 **Part 1**

The clock dinged four in the morning. Disturbed, Robards woke up suddenly, cursing his light sleep. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretching in the chair.

His desk was neatly organised. A small, but growing stack of reports from his underlings still waited for at least a glance before he marked them off. The candles he'd charmed to float above the desk had dripped wax all over the documents. He he was supposed to have finished that hours ago.

He didn't know why he even bothered. A dozen Aurors couldn't possibly monitor all of Hogwarts. He would need fifty to have a decent chance. Dumbledore was in the wind and Potter in custody – sort of – but the Minister insisted they remain at the castle.

Robards glared at the clock, then decided that if he was already awake, he might as well eat something. He summoned a house elf that had been assigned to the Auror contingent by McGonagall, like the classroom-turned-field-headquarters Robards was currently using as his office. He cleaned the wax off the reports with a quick spell and set them aside. The elf popped in with his very late dinner.

Scrimgeour agreed with him that it was pointless to keep him at Hogwarts when they had Harry Potter, though the Director had seemed strange about the boy specifically, as if he'd rather just let Potter be. Robards couldn't say he thought differently, but the orders had come from on high. Dumbledore, on the other hand... Dumbledore could walk into the Ministry naked and wandless and Robards still doubted he would be captured.

The Minister had insisted that Potter be brought out of the coma, but Healer Grayson shot that down. Robards had been lucky enough to be present for that confrontation. As much as he disliked Grayson – it was hate at first sight – he could have bought the man a pint right then.

Personally, Robards was sceptical about Potter. What danger could he pose? He was, by all accounts, a talented kid with a penchant for getting into trouble. Just didn't seem like someone after Fudge's job. The rumours about You-Know-Who were just that, rumours. He could see Dumbledore making a play, but Potter? Bah.

Just a confused kid.

Done with the meal, Robards had the house elf collect the dishes. He then walked up to the door, opened it halfway and stuck his head outside. Ribs was stationed in the hallway, still as a statue. The only part of him that seemed to move at all were his eyes.

"Sir," he greeted curtly. He bretrayed no surprise at seeing his boss up at this hour.

"Status report," said Robards.

"Nothing suspicious. All good, sir."

"How's your sneak-o-scope?"

"Settled down about three hours ago."

Robards nodded. He'd turned his sneak-o-scope off entirely. They were in a school, after all. "Dumbledore?" he asked, not bothering to hide his boredom.

"Not a blip," replied Ribs in the same brief, professional manner.

Robards frowned. Did this man sleep at all? "And the rest?"

"Seven doing the rounds. Rest sleeping," Ribs rattled off.

Robards' lip twitched when he asked the next question.

"How's Dawlish doing?"

He thought he spotted a flicker of humanity in Ribs' normally dead stare. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

"Still in the Forest, sir."

He'd sent Dawlish out to scour the grounds, _especially_ the Forbidden Forest, secretely hoping the kiss-arse would run into a couple of acromantulas.

"Excellent. Carry on, Ribs."

Robards retreated into the classroom and returned to his desk. He was weighing the pros and cons of ignoring the damn paperwork and going back to sleep when the Floo flared to life. A booming voice came from the mass of green flames.

"URGENT MESSAGE FOR AUROR CAPTAIN ROBARDS."

This ought to be interesting.

"Yes, put it through."

A paper plane a striking shade of magenta sailed through the fire, circled the candles above the desk and fell into Robards' lap. The Floo made a belching noise and died. He unfolded the plane. The message talked about things that sounded worse with each word. Azkaban attacked? Dumbledore at the Ministry? _You-Know-Who back?_

He hadn't been drinking anything, but he still managed to choke, on the very air, it seemed.

He got to the last paragraph.

 _Arrest orders are rescinded. Get out of Hogwarts and get back to London. Report to me as soon as possible. DO NOT inform Dolores Umbridge._

R. Scrimgeour

He read the letter twice more, lingering over some parts longer than others. His face creased by a deep frown, he destroyed the letter, then looked about the room.

 _Dawlish can clean this up._

~~oOo~~

"What have you done with the werewolves?"

Sirius looked up from the jar he was tinkering with. Inside were a few dried up leaves and a piece of a branch. "We put them somewhere else, obviously."

"And Peter?"

Sirius stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't even think about it," he said with a crooked smile.

Harry smothered the impulse to push for more substantial answers. He looked away from Sirius, staring intently at the floor. He wanted to get to the rat and choke the life out of him, consequences be damnded. Maybe it was better that he was out of his reach.

"I had a lot of time to think in Azkaban..." said Sirius. "I got angry a lot. It made me feel better, and then dementors came and made me feel worse. So I learned to keep my anger in check. Something you still have trouble with."

"I'm trying," Harry shot back.

Sirius sighed. "It's not a skill gained in a matter of weeks. No one's blaming you, Harry. I shouldn't have left you alone with him." A grimace marred his face. "You're waiting for Sturgis?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Remus. He's supposed to be here any minute now."

"I thought you were done hunting now that we have Peter."

"Not while there are Death Eaters to catch."

Harry knocked on the jar's lid. He could feel it humming with the energy of a fresh enchantment. "Who's the lucky number this time?"

"Greyback."

Sirius said nothing else, but his idle glance towards the door told Harry the rest. Remus had chosen this target.

Harry picked up the jar, tossed it up in the air and caught it. "Are you going to tell me what's between you and Sturgis?"

Sirius made a face. "Thee's nothing between us. Besides, I thought you were dating Ginny."

Harry snorted with stifled laughter. "You're such a dog."

Sirius shrugged. "You walked right into it, Potter."

"I was being serius- don't!" he said, seeing a grin bloom on Sirius' face. "I'm just saying, you seem to dislike him."

Sirius patted his shoulder. "That's a topic for a longer conversation and we don't have the time. Your escort is here." He sat back down and ostentatiously hid behind the Daily Prophet.

"Childish," Harry muttered loud enough for Sirius to hear. The paper shuddered as Sirius turned the page in an exaggerated manner.

Sturgis entered the kitchen, running a hand through his windswept hair. "Good morning, Harry, Sirius."

Sirius waved at him from behind the Prophet.

"Sorry I'm late," Sturgis said. "Mal tried to squeeze some secrets out of me, but the Order's integrity has been preserved."

"Who's Mal?" Harry asked. "Sirius, do you know who Mal is?"

"Nope," Sirius replied, stretching out the 'n' in a tone indicating he didn't give a damn.

"Oh, you'll meet her sometime, I'm sure. Harry, you ready? Then let's go."

Harry tapped the jar with his wand, casting the spell silently. He had made the best progress with that discipline lately. Inside the jar, the branch, notched on one end, rose and spun around like the needle of a compass. Finally, it stopped spinning, the receptacle pointing north. The branch wobbled when Harry picked up the jar, admiring Sirius' spellwork. Rita Skeeter had spent several weeks inside that jar, but had been released months ago. Only the expertly performed enchantment had managed to turn it into a receptacle at all. Sirius was certain it would be enough to find Rita, provided she wasn't trying very hard to hide.

"Well, captain... do we have a heading?" asked Sturgis.

"I hope so," said Harry.

"Then let's be on our way."

Sturgis' good humour quickly evaporated at the amount of apparition that followed. He was no slouch at it, but most wizards could apparate a few times an hour. Sturgis was hardly an average wizard, but they still moved fairly slowly.

"I'm not enjoying this either, you know," said Harry, seeing Sturgis' sour face. That seemed to bring out new strength in the elder wizard. Sturgis pushed himself to make shorter and more frequent jumps.

"That's just childish," Harry grumbled, again waiting for his body to readjust after being twisted and squeezed.

Sturgis smiled triumphantly. "Are you going to tell on me?"

"I can't imagine why Sirius doesn't like you. You're cut from the same cloth."

Sturgis made a sound halfway between a sigh and a grunt. "I could have expected that. It would have come up eventually."

"A conversation for another time?"

The Hit-wizard gave a sheepish grin. "Is that what Sirius told you when you asked him?"

They engaged in a short staring match, but Harry relented first.

"Alright. I suppose it's none of my business," he said, not really meaning it. Sirius would probably cave if bothered long enough.

"And that's where it's best left at."

The conversation fizzled out then and for a long time Harry occupied himself with navigating as they continously headed north, adjusting their course after each apparition. They had to be getting close, because as noon approached, the compass eagerly reacted to miniscule changes in direction, pointing out their target with increasing accuracy.

Harry got bored of the silence. "How does one become a Hit-wizard?" he asked, eyes on the receptacle in his hands. He thought it was a neutral enough question to help clear the air. He glanced sideways – Sturgis seemed surprised.

"In most cases, by accident," Sturgis replied. "It's not a prestigious or well-paid profession, unless you're willing to take truly insane risks. The better of us are in reasonably high demand, but many quit... or die."

Harry perked up. _That_ was _interesting._ "How so?"

"There isn't really a concise answer to this question..."

Harry shrugged and shook the jar. "We've got time."

Sturgis eyeballed him, wearing a strange expression. "Ah... but you're an outsider. We're sort of a secret club. Some things I can't tell you unless I kill you immediately afterwards and I've come to rather like you."

"Give me the general idea."

Sturgis opened his mouth as if to protest again, but closed it with an audible click of teeth.

"Fine," he said eventually. "Generally speaking, then... Mercenary work is dangerous. The things one has to do, sometimes... This new-money guy lost something precious in the Amazon. It was good pay for a single locator spell, I thought. I spent three months in the jungle, juggling every kind of venomous creature you can imagine and a good bunch of local crime lords. They like it there, because it's remote and mostly inaccessible. Their magic was screwing with my tracker. Found the lost item in the ruins of an old temple. By the look of it, something had been sacrificed on the altar just hours previously. The air was so thick with Dark magic I couldn't be sure the blood wasn't human."

Harry missed a step. "You're kidding." He had tried to come off jokingly, but it sounded more nervous than he'd anticipated.

Sturgis was silent for a moment, then broke into a huge grin. "Yeah, I am. It was pig's blood. The rest is all true though."

"What did this guy lose?"

"A pocket watch," Sturgis said lightly.

Harry licked his lips. "Now I _know_ you're having me on."

Sturgis looked on smugly. "A hidden pattern on the clockface indicated the location of his private vault under Machu Picchu. He'd ammassed a true mountain of treasure there," he said, looking rather pleased with himself.

For a moment they walked on in silence. Harry wasn't sure, but Sturgis was staring at him as if prompting the next question.

"...did you steal it?" he asked, cocking his head.

Sturgis let out a high-pitched giggle. "Only the goblin gold. The Gringotts manager in Rio de Janeiro rewarded me with an incredibly generous finder's fee when I returned it. Well, generous for a goblin, that is."

Harry tried to imagine it. He couldn't picture the sour-faced goblins of London doing anything that could be described as 'generous'. Perhaps their Brazilian brethren were of a less hostile disposition.

"Sounds like a very adventurous profession," Harry said.

The Hit-wizard chortled into his fist. "It always amuses me when soft-faced boys and girls decide to try their hand at adventuring. They're so clueless it's sort of amazing."

Harry peppered Sturgis with more questions and the Hit-wizard seemed more open to answering. Not unlike his lessons with Dumbledore, the more Harry knew, the more he realised how little that was.

"If you're going to China, it's a good idea to at least know how to ask for directions and to be able to understand when they're given. Warlords in Africa have sensitive egos, so you must pay attention what you say and _how_ you say it," Sturgis continued. "Languages, customs, local magic, geography... I tell you Harry, there's no greater scholar than an old Hit-wizard. Bathilda Bagshot wrote half her books thanks to people like me- but look at that. We've gone terribly off course."

He was right. The compass was pointing way off to Harry's right, while they had been walking down the same road for the better part of an hour. Sturgis apparated them to the top of an elongated ridge towering above the surrounding fields. The receptacle realinged itself again.

A sheep was grazing nearby. The rest of the herd was spread out on the slope below.

"Shoo," said Sturgis, stepping forward, arms up.

The sheep titled its head, bleated at them and hurried away.

Harry's mind raced with no direction as they walked, now paying close attention to the compass, one string of thought turning into another with the barest hint of coherence and soon enough he was in a wholly different, scarcely explored area. A question formed and worked its way to the forefront, demanding to be asked. It wasn't the first time it had come up, but no one seemed like the right recipient. Certainly not Dumbledore. Remus... no. Remus was a man of strong morals. Sirius could give the answer Harry sought, but they were closer than they'd ever been before. Somehow, it seemed inappropriate. Why were some things easier to talk about with strangers? Was it the allure of being spared judgement? Or knowing that if judgement was passed, one was unlikely to ever hear it?

Harry looked to his left. Here was a man almost perfectly in the middle between a stranger and a friend.

"Sturgis... have you ever killed anyone?"

Hearing himself speak the words aloud put the image of Pettigrew's face before his eyes.

Sturgis' cheer vanished, replaced by ambivalence. "Harry, you should have told me you want to _kill_ Rita Skeeter."

Harry was quick to protest. "No, I wasn't- that's not what-" He paused, now wishing he hadn't asked. "Can we agree to forget I said that?"

"No need," Sturgis replied. The exaggerated mask was gone. "This would come up sooner or later after your latest encounter with Pettigrew. I'm surprised it's me you're asking, but honoured, in a way." He cleared his throat. "I've never been someone's moral compass before, but I'll do my best."

Harry looked up at the Hit-wizard, suddenly apprehensive. What answer was he expecting, really? Would it change how he perceived Sturgis? For the first time, Harry saw no hint of humour on his companion's face.

"Yes, I have," Sturgis said.

Something popped, an invisible bubble, releasing the mounting pressure. Harry exhaled slowly.

"With... premeditation?" he asked further.

Sturgis' eyes glinted with understanding. Harry wasn't sure if that was good or not.

"That," the Hit-wizard said slowly, "is a different question entirely. If you want me to answer honestly, then I will require you to ask me with the same degree of honesty."

Harry's thoughts raced as he came up with a dozen excuses and deflections. "We should probably focus on finding Skeeter," he mumbled.

Sturgis didn't comment on his blatant evasion, dropping the subject without another word. "You know, I'm starting to think she's in Hogsmeade," the Hit-wizard said. "Skeeter's a creature of habit. She's renting a room in The Three Broomsticks or I'll eat my coat."

Harry agreed, silently thanking Sturgis. _Should have kept your mouth shut, you idiot,_ he thought as Sturgis whisked them away towards Scotland.

~~oOo~~

The second October weekend this year dawned over London with an unusually clear sky. The weather encouraged a stroll through the city during what was probably the last remnant of summer. Harry breathed in, the morning air stinging his throat. It wouldn't be anywhere as nice up in Scotland, but he was glad to be coming back to Hogwarts.

"Ready?"

Harry turned to face Sturgis. The Hit-wizard had become his frequent companion in the days since the attack on Azkaban. Sirius and Remus were busy again and Harry had seen little of them recently.

He cast one more look over the rooftops of London. Last night's rainfall had brought out something fresh and vibrant in the view.

"Yes, I'm ready."

Sturgis apparated them to Hogwarts grounds, to the same spot they'd arrived at when they had visited Hagrid. Harry stayed under the Cloak until Sturgis declared the area safe.

"Watch yourself, Harry," he said. "Things will be heated for some time."

"Aren't they always? When's Dumbledore coming back?"

The Headmaster had decided to delay his return to Hogwarts, a decision Harry found peculiar.

"In a few days," Sturgis replied. "He wants to let Fudge stew for a little while longer. Although I think he's using that excuse to not have to deal with running the school. McGonagall is doing his job instead."

"Is she in the Order?"

"She's an ally and you can absolutely trust her, but she doesn't actively participate."

Harry sensed there was a story behind that, because there always was – McGonagall stood proudly in the picture of the original Order Sirius had shown him, next to Dumbledore – but that was enough for now. Harry parted ways with Sturgis and began the trek up to the castle, stopping briefly by Hagrid's on his way. He didn't see anyone else until he entered the castle proper. It was a Saturday, after all. Most students would be taking advantage of the weekend to sleep in.

Two younger Ravenclaws passed him by, staring openly, mouths agape.

"Potter? What-"

"Morning," Harry said, trying to keep a straight face. The Ravenclaws scurried back up the stairs. No harm in a bit of fun, was there?

The Great Hall was only beginning to fill up. As he'd suspected, he had made it there before most of the Gryffindors. He spotted Theodore Nott at the Slytherin table, surrounded by a small group of upper year housemates. It was a mystery how he'd managed to so naturally fill the void left in the wake of Malfoy's escape. Nott had never seemed particularly influential, even among the Slytherins.

Nott saw him watching and a mocking half-smile flashed across his face. He inclined his head in acknowledgement and went back to reading the Daily Prophet.

Harry ate slowly, observing Nott and his crew – and not caring to hide it either – until they got up and left. The Slytherin had been enough to sour his mood, though he found some amusement in the reactions to his sudden reapperance.

Ginny, Ron and Hermione entered the Great Hall together. They didn't seem surprised seeing him, having likely heard about his return from someone else. They joined him at the table, Ron and Hermione opposite him, Ginny on his left. She kissed him, to which Ron pretended to vomit, using his scrambled eggs as a prop. Ginny responded by flicking a strip of bacon at his face. Hermione raised her eyes to the ceiling in silent prayer, looking utterly exasperated.

"I can't believe I've been friends with you two for years," she said with a note of despair.

Soon, the morning post was delivered. Hermione paid the messenger owl for the copy of the Prophet and unfurled the paper. Azkaban continued to occupy the front page. _DARK FORCES ON THE MOVE,_ the headline announced.

"A muggle family in Leicester was found to have been subjected to dementors' influence. A wizard from Liverpool Kissed. Lestranges possibly sighted in Wales," Hermione read aloud. "This is it, then. He's really not hiding anymore."

"It was inevitable once we caught Pettigrew," said Harry. "This way, he all but announced his return on his own terms."

"It's just a shame innocent people are caught in it," Ginny mumbled.

"Does anyone else get the feeling that no matter what's done, it seems to play right into... into _his_ hands?" asked Ron, his tone grim.

"We're not losing," Harry said firmly, looking at their faces. They seemed unconvinced. "We're _not._ I know this looks bad, but without the Order Voldemort would have done a lot more damage. He'd probably have a Death Eater running the Aurors by now. And we have Pettigrew – that's not nothing."

He cut himself off, unsure if they should be discussing this out in the open. "The Order is doing everything it can," he finished, leaning in as he lowered his voice.

To his satisfaction, they seemed reassured. Hermione leafed through the paper, quoting the interesting bits.

"Ministry in chaos, of course... Nurmengard's new Warden speaks out about an unidentified wizard..."

Harry perked up. "Show me that."

It was a clear description of Voldemort. Harry scanned the rest of the article quickly. It delved deep into the corruption permeating the Ministry, nicely tying Azkaban and Nurmengard to Fudge. It was a masterstroke, taking up almost a third of the entire issue. Rita had really delivered.

"How did you get to write this?" Ginny asked, reading over his shoulder. "This is honestly kind of incredible. Fudge must be chocking on his tea and biscuits as we speak."

Harry shrugged noncomitally. "I gave her an interview."

Hermione bristled at that, nailing him with a look of betrayal. _"An interview?_ After everything she smeared us both with during the Tournament?"

"It was a good deal," Harry objected. "Besides, Dumbledore thought it was a good idea too. The interview will be more of this," he said, pointing at the paper with his chin.

"This has to do with the Order's plan, doesn't it?" asked Ginny. "We've all heard about this mysterious masterplan, but what's actually in it?"

"I don't know much," Harry admitted. "Sirius only told me it involves going to Fudge and something he called 'a reverse Malfoy'."

"Didn' 'UshusMalf-" Ron began, but Hermione hit him with the rolled up Prophet.

"For god's sake Ron, swallow first!"

He did so a touch too quickly, his eyes going comically wide for a moment. "Didn't Lucius Malfoy use to be buddies with Fudge?"

"So, reverse that..." Hermione mused, then paused. "Oh god, the Order wants to _manipulate the Minister?"_

"I don't think they heard you at the Slytherin table," Ginny muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "And don't look so shocked. People will think Ron just made you a scandalous offer."

Hermione blushed a deep crimson, arms crossed over her chest. "This is a serious matter, Ginny," she protested.

"Of course it is," Harry cut in. "I'm wondering why you disapprove."

"This is just so over our heads," Hermione said. "We're associating with a group looking to perform what's essentially a political takeover."

Ginny, surprisingly, picked up the thread of conversation and sparred with Hermione on the merits of shadow governments, though Harry thought she was doing it mostly for the laughs.

The discussion soon turned to other topics. Harry asked about the classes – or lack thereoff – and what the Aurors and Umbridge had been up to. At some point Hermione abandoned her barely touched breakfast, grabbed her bag and stood to leave.

"I have to go check something-"

"In the library," the rest of them intoned in unison. Hermione rolled her eyes and hurried out of the Great Hall.

Harry looked to his right, at the High Table. Dumbledore's absence left an unnatural, gaping hole in the middle, where his ornate chair stood empty. His gaze slid along until he stopped at Snape. Harry was sure the Potions Master knew Harry was observing him, but merely continued to look bored while sipping his tea. After the initial fallout of Malfoy's escape had dissolved, the two of them settled into a routine of mostly ignoring each other, a request Harry had laid out in his letter in the summer. As long as he didn't fail catastrophically in Potions class (an endeavour in which he had thus far been successful), Snape left him alone.

Further down, separated from Snape by Professor Vector, sat Umbridge. Harry was at first taken aback when the woman met his eyes with an intense glare. She must have been watching him throughout breakfast. He sent a mocking grin her way, which caused Umbridge to plunge into a shade of pink matching her robes. She quickly left the Hall through the side entrance in the corner.

He was about to leave with Ron and Ginny when a lone owl sailed down and deposited a letter into his hands. The parchment was blank, but then lines of ink began forming, as if an Obscuration Charm was beeing peeled away.

 _Potter,_

Meet me in the Trophy Room at midnight tonight. I must speak with you on an urgent matter. Come alone.

Daphne Greengrass

"What's that?" asked Ginny. "Why would someone send you an empty piece of parchment?"

Harry looked up from the letter, eyebrows raised. She couldn't see it?

"Unless... it's not empty," Ginny added. "Is it?"

Harry scanned the Slytherin table. Greengrass was nowhere in sight.

"I have a date with a Slytherin tonight."

~~oOo~~

The castle was abuzz with rumours regarding Azkaban and anything and anyone even remotely associated with it. Harry had had enough by midday.

"...heard that this Auror that survived was bitten by a werewolf – they want to put _him_ in a cell now..."

"...my uncle told me it's a right mess over there..."

Harry was grateful for the company of his friends – even Fred and George had joined his entourage for a while, proclaiming loudly that he had returned to take the castle back from Umbridge. When he was surrounded by a closely knit group, other students didn't seem as eager to approach him, though there had been a few stand outs. They were the ones who took extreme positions – either declaring theit support, or wanting to spit at his feet.

A special edition Evening Prophet was delivered at dinner. The front page this time was taken up by a picture of Harry. It wasn't the most flattering portrait – Rita's photographer Bozo had come out of nowhere and snapped the picture, catching Harry in surprise. He supposed Skeeter couldn't help herself not to take a slight jab at him. Fortunately, the interview itself had been spared embellishments, giving a concise look at the carefully edited account of the night of the Third Task. On Dumbledore's advice, he had refrained from naming any Death Eaters when he spoke about their arrival, despite Rita's pleas. Harry supposed it was prudent to avoid making accusations they couldn't back up at the moment.

Sturgis had been the one to get Rita to finally relent on the names.

"Do you really want to accuse several very dangerous people of being killers in the service of Voldemort?"

Having heard that, Rita paled and asked no further questions about the Death Eaters.

They had scattered about the castle after dinner. Harry and Ron took the opportunity to get in some practice in the Chamber of Secrets before their next session with Sirius. Later, they reconvened in the Common Room, settling comfortably into several armchairs, under a discreet umbrella of privacy charms. Daphne Greengrass' letter made the rounds again, even though they had all seen it already.

"You're not going alone," Hermione declared in a tone that would suffer no objection.

"I wasn't planning to," Harry said. "I thought one of you could follow me under the Cloak."

They were in agreement on the merit of that idea, but there was a bit of an argument about who would accompany him.

"No offence girls, but I want to take Ron along."

Hermione and Ginny both sent him glares, suggesting they were, in fact, offended, though Hermione's was decidedly more vicious.

"Guys, guys!" Harry said, raising his voice. "Calm down. Ron has done the most practice with me and Sirius. You're both brilliant, but Ron backing me up just makes sense if things get cocked up."

Harry thought it was a perfectly reasonable argument – Ron really was pretty wicked in a fight if he put in the effort. Ginny allowed herself to be placated with a kiss, but Hermione seemed intent on holding a grudge for the evening.

They spent hours talking, making up for the lost time of the last few days, speculating about the Order's next move, Voldemort's possible reaction and how the Ministry would fare caught in the middle. Eventually, the Common Room emptied as people retired to the dorms. Harry took note of the time – it was nearing eleven.

"Well, I'm going to bed," Hermione announced after they'd sat in silence for a good few minutes, having exhausted the most relevant conversation topics. "Don't do anything stupid, boys."

Ginny soon followed Hermione upstairs. Harry and Ron were the only ones left in the Common Room.

"It's good to have you back, Harry," said Ron quietly. "It hasn't been the same without you here."

"How so?"

Ron tilted his head and sank deeper into the armchair. "I don't really talk much to the other guys. Dean and Seamus have their own thing and Neville's been kind of... like he's miles away. Something's bothering him. I asked, but he didn't say anything."

Harry muted Ron out for a moment. He had a good idea about why Neville would have changed. The Ministry had announced the names of Death Eaters that had escaped from Azkaban the next morning. Bellatrix Lestrange topped that list.

"...and I just don't understand girls," Ron finished his thought, staring into the fire. "You know what I mean?"

Harry stared into the fire as well and nodded slowly. "Totally, mate."

He leaned back and, as he was wont to do, let his thoughts wander. So much was out of his control. So much of what the Order was doing surpassed his understanding. He'd woken up in panic a few times, suddenly keenly aware how little he knew. Dumbledore was a walking bundle of mysteries. Sirius and Remus had been through Merlin knows what together. Mulciber was a menacing, dark unknown.

Why hadn't he done anything that night in Goric's Hollow? And then, when he dueled Sirius, it was like a mask had fallen off. Gone was the peculiar, strangely cheerful man, replaced by a raging killer. Which was the real one? Who was the act for? Was it a plot designed by Voldemort, or did the Death Eater have his own agenda?

Horcruxes... what were they? What did Grindelwald have to do with them and what was the mystery surrounding them that elicited such a strong reaction from Dumbledore? He had said it was a riddle he'd been tackling for fourteen years. Since Voldemort's fall. Were horcruxes somehow connected to Voldemort's survival? In Voldemort's memory, Caroline Amsel had called them a form of alchemy.

Harry thought back to his first year, Hermione hauling a giant leather-bound tome, telling him and Ron about Nicolas Flamel and the feat of alchemy that no one else had managed to replicate – the Philosopher's Stone.

The Stone. Horcruxes. Alchemy. Elixir of Life. Snape's words during the first Potions class: _put a stopper in death..._

When no epiphany came, he cast those thoughts aside. It wasn't the first time he'd looked for an answer there. None ever came. His own research yielded no allusion to possible connections between the elusive horcruxes and the Stone, and to be honest, he had given up looking. Even the foulest books in Grimmauld Place offered no details about horcruxes, though he did find a short chapter on them in _Wiles of Shadow._ There, a horcrux was referred to as the Darkest Art and followed by several pages' worth of references to death in various mythologies from across a dozen different cultures, far apart in location and time of origin. Largely useless, though it did drive a point. Whatever horcruxes were, they had a lot to do with death... perhaps even defying it.

"Mate," said Ron, bringing him out his half-trance. "We should get moving if we want to make it there in time."

Ron donned the Cloak while Harry navigated the hallways relying on his familiarity with the castle's topography, consulting the Map from time to time to make sure they wouldn't run into any teachers or prefects on a night patrol.

He stopped around a corner, in a spot overlooking the entrance to the Trophy Room. He glanced out through the window at the white orb of the nearly full moon – Remus was in for a terrible Monday.

"Ron," Harry whispered, "go take a look."

There was no reply, but Harry knew Ron would have stayed close. He observed the intersection of hallways and cast several detection spells. The Human Presence Charm returned only two impulses – Ron and presumably Greengrass, but it was possible to hide from that spell.

Harry felt a tap on his shoulder.

"I only saw Greengrass. She's not exactly hiding," Ron whispered.

Harry scurried across the open space and ducked into the Trophy Room. The change of lighting from moonlight to the softly crackling torches cast a strange reflex on one of the glass cabinets. Harry blinked as his eyes adjusted.

Daphne Greengrass stood out in the open, posture straight, arms crossed over her chest, a wand peeking out from between her fingers. Strangely, she reminded him of Lucius Malfoy with her long, blond hair and an inscrutable expression.

"Right on time," she said by way of greeting.

Harry put a finger up to his lips, then layered a Silencing Charm over the entrance.

"Now we can talk," he said. "So, why did you want to meet? I don't think we've exchanged a dozen words in four years."

"I have a very good reason for this meeting and the secrecy. I do hope you weren't followed."

"I'm good at sneaking around."

Greengrass tightened her lips. "You will soon understand why I wouldn't want my housemates to witness this conversation."

 _What a nicely worded evasion,_ Harry thought. "Let's hear it, then."

"My family was paid an alarming visit several days ago. You must know who Walden Macnair is."

Harry knew. The executor for the Department of Control of Magical Creatures. More importantly...

"He's a Death Eater. One of the Inner Circle."

Greengrass nodded. "He made no secret that he had come on behalf of the Dark Lord. He said, in no uncertain terms, that my family is expected to serve at his pleasure. My parents weren't given much time to give their response. Macnair came again yesterday. He gave them three more days."

Harry listened attentively. If he were to guess, Greengrass was going to ask for protection or asylum for her family. But if it were so, why was she talking to _him?_ Hermione was right. This made no sense.

"My parents lived through the last war. They know what happens to those who refuse, but serving the Dark Lord... none of us want this."

Harry waited for her to continue, but when she didn't, he understood she was giving him time to ask questions.

"If you're telling the truth, then far be it from me to deny you help. Enemy of my enemy and all that. But you mst have an idea that this looks strange from my perspective. Not to sell myself short, but I'm just a student."

"I imagine what you must think," Greengrass said. "Why have I approached you? Why isn't my father talking to Dumbledore?"

Harry paced slowly in a circle, keeping Greengrass in his field of view. He could've sworn he had just seen the strange flicker of light again. He examined the cabinet closer. Behind the glass, an array of medals and trophies was laid out to inspire the beholder, looking utterly inconspicuous.

"I can guess why it's you," Harry said, looking over his shoulder at the Slytherin. "It's not a giant leap to assume your home is being watched. But I don't understand why it's me on the other side of this conversation."

She looked away, avoiding his eyes. Was she hesitant or just playing it up? He couldn't tell.

"The truth is we don't want to deal with Dumbledore. My family has no interest in joining the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. How did she know?

"I can see you're surprised. Dumbledore's Order isn't as clandestine as some think. It used to be fairly well known during the Dark Lord's first rise. Its membership was a well-kept secret, but not the fact of its existence. Though one can make some well-grounded assumptions as to who was in it. Like your parents... or Sirius Black."

Harry almost went for his wand. "You are amazingly well informed for a stranger."

"My father is acquainted with some people among the old Death Eaters. He has been putting the pieces together for months."

"So what's your problem with Dumbledore, exactly?"

"We want nothing to do with him, not just because even a hint of association would place an even bigger target on us."

Harry tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "I don't understand. I thought you wanted to hide."

Greengrass gave a wry smile, though there was a shade of resignation about it as well. "Hide? You can't hide from the Dark Lord, Potter. Your parents tried. It didn't end well for them, did it?"

Harry almost barked out a retort on impulse, but stopped himself. How much did she know? She has an inkling about Sirius. Could he risk it just to satisfy the urge to correct her misconception?

No, she already knew too much and so far she had given no reason to think this wasn't a ploy by Voldemort. He stayed his tongue, but couldn't stop the sound, halfway between a moan and a grunt, that escaped him involuntarily.

Greengrass furrowed her eyebrows. "Are you alright?"

Harry nodded and curved his lis upward in a caricature of a smile. "Mhm." He cleared his throat. "My patience has run out, Greengrass. No more meandering. Say what you want or I'm leaving."

She seemed taken aback at such a crude turn to the conversation. Clearly, she'd had a precise plan in mind for how this meeting should have gone.

"Your godfather," she said finally, lowering her voice, despite the Silencing Charm on the door. "He controls the Black fortune. This grants him resources few can match. He's not Dumbledore and he opposes Voldemort. I extend a formal plea for an alliance."

"Alliance," Harry repeated, tasting the word. It sounded strange to him, coming from the mouth of a Slyherin. He had believed himself above House prejudices. The colour of the tie did not make a person, after all.

 _I guess no one's immune to that._

Moreso, he felt uncomfortably dim. Alliance. Was that supposed to mean something concrete, or was it just a suitable word in this case? Was there something obvious about it that he should be seeing, but wasn't?

"No hiding, then."

"Not at all. My father intends to answer the Dark Lord's call."

Harry had enough of the doublespeak.

"Greengrass, it's late and you keep circling the issue without arriving at the point. Put it in plain words."

She sighed, as if they were playing some kind of game and Harry was trying to sidestep the rules.

"My family is no more in favour of the Dark Lord's rule than, I imagine, you are. We can help, but we don't want to join Dumbledore's Order, even unofficially. And," she paused, raising a single finger pointed to the ceiling, "should anything go wrong, we will need help disappearing. My father is convinced Sirius Black can provide this assistance. We would, of course, share whatever information is safe enough to pass on without putting ourselves at risk."

Harry mulled over her words. Once again, he saw the same peculiar, eye-catching reflection on the glass.

"I'd say joining Death Eaters without putting your heart in it is putting yourself at risk. Your father is willing to do this?"

"The Dark Lord has enough figthers, now that his old allies are free. My father was approached for his business contacts. War is a costly endeavour."

"I will-" He almost said 'talk to Sirius', but figured, why confirm something for her? Until he knew more, he had to play it carefully. "-pass on your message. When is Macnair coming back?"

"Tuesday evening."

"I'll try to have an answer for you before then."

Harry finally remembered where he'd seen the same kind of light-play before. "Just one more thing..."

He spun around, his wand spewing forth a silent spell. Another visual distortion and the thump of an unconscious body falling confirmed his suspicions.

To his left, Greengrass stood frozen, while Ron pointed his wand at her neck, the Cloak pooled on the floor around his feet.

"I wouldn't do anything rash," Ron warned. "And I'll take that," he added, delicately removing the wand from the Slytherin's fingers, his eyes locked in on her face.

"I asked you to come alone," she ground out.

Harry flashed her a smile. He admitted to himself he felt much more comfortable with her disarmed. "You can't be that naive."

He canceled the Disillusionment Charm on whomever it was he'd stunned. The spell faded away, revealing Blaise Zabini, another fifth year Slytherin. Harry summoned his wand and turned back to face Greengrass. "Something you want to tell us, Daphne?"

She slapped Ron's hand away and glared defiantly. "I came alone. He must have followed me."

Harry made a face. "So much for keeping secrets. Who knows, maybe there was a whole bunch of people listening in. Hey guys, come out! We won't bite!"

Greengrass looked at him with an expression of unmitigated distaste. "No, there weren't," she said confidently. "I know why he followed me. Wake him up."

As soon as Zabini came to his senses, Greengrass descended upon him with accusations and questions. Harry wisely stepped aside. She reminded him of Hermione right then.

"I _told_ you I could handle this on my own," Greengrass spat out, though her zeal lessened with each word.

"I was worried," Zabini replied, collecting himself and smoothing down his robes. His eyes honed in on Harry's left hand. "Mind returning my wand, Potter?"

Harry grinned and licked his teeth. "I do, until I know what's going on."

Zabini scoffed at him. "I thought you'd have figured it out by now."

"Marcus Plateau is your stepfather. You must be the source of all the information she shouldn't have," said Harry, pointing to Zabini, then Greengrass. "Nice try, by the way. 'My father knows Death Eaters' – almost had me there, I'll grant you that." He twirled Zabini's wand deftly between his fingers, a trick Sirius had shown him. "I'm just wondering about the nature of your relationship."

"Fair enough," said Greengrass. She took Zabini's hand and moved closer to him. _"This_ is the nature of our relationship."

Harry shared a telling look with Ron.

"You're dating?" Harry guessed. "So... Macnair showed up, you told your boyfriend, who'd heard some things from his stepdad and repeated them to you."

"Small world," said Ron.

The Slytherins, still wandless and at their mercy, didn't share their amusement.

"Will you help or not?" Greengrass asked.

"...I guess I can try." Harry tossed Zabini his wand and Ron returned Greengrass'. "You should work on your Dislillusionment Charm, Zabini. See you around."

Ron disappeared under the Cloak again and took the lead, Harry following shortly as he backed out of the Trophy Room, watching the Slytherins until the line of sight was broken. He was going to talk to Sirius alright. He should know that Marcus Plateau hadn't been keeping his mouth shut, even if it was his stepson.

They took a previously agreed upon roundabout way back to the Tower. One couldn't be too careful nowadays. In the dormitory, Harry cast an anti-eavesdropping spell, even though their roommates were sleeping.

"Voldemort is on the move," Harry said. "I'll bet Greengrasses weren't the only ones approached."

Harry noticed with a smidgen of pride that Ron didn't flinch at the mention of Voldemort's name, though he still wouldn't speak it.

"It's really beginning, isn't it?" Ron asked, uncharacteristically serious.

"Yes. We're at war."

Harry fell back on the pillow, wondering if this was how his parents had felt. Did Sirius and James have similar exchanges? Did they feel a part of what was happening then, or think it was something Aurors would deal with? They couldn't have known, back then, how much responsibility would come to rest on their shoulders. Harry lay awake long into the night, unable to decide if not knowing what he did would have been better.

~~oOo~~

Sirius stood a silent vigil by the window, hidden in the shadow cast by the heavy, old-fashioned curtains. The huge window was comprised of dozens of small rectangles of coloured glass set into a cast-iron frame. It clashed horribly with the thick carpet in shades of red and the gargantuan desk, carved with scenes of a fox hunt. Sirius didn't mind a bit of eccentricty, but this place drowned in a mix-matched aggregation of contradictory styles that seemed intent on offending him. Enough to say, it was badly put together. Just like the man who lived here.

Behind him, an irritated grunt came from the darkness that occupied most of the room. Sirius didn't bother turning around.

"Save the attitude for later, Remus," he said, struggling to keep back a tired yawn. "You can be cranky when he gets here."

In all honesty, he could understand Remus. Their target was late and it was getting on Sirius' nerves too. He leaned forward, finding the nearly full moon hanging high in the sky. If the owner didn't show up soon, Remus could well murder him the moment he stepped into the room. Not that Sirius was against it, but Remus would feel guilty afterwards, and he hated playing the priest so his friend could beg for absolution. Poor chap never really came to terms with his furry problem.

A change in the scene outside the window drew Sirius' eye. A lamp lit up by the front gate. It swung open – the only breach in the twelve foot brick wall surrounding the property – and three men appeared on the stone path.

Sirius absently brushed a hand past his waist, where his wand rested in the holster, ready for a quick draw. The three men came up to the front door, directly below the window. Sirius carefully undid the latch on of the glass squares. Sounds of the conversation floated up.

"-thank you, sir, but I should really get home. Jane will be worried."

"Ah well, my loss. Goodnight, gentlemen."

Two of the men, wearing red Auror's cloaks turned around and left. Sirius heard the last one unlocking the door.

"He's inside," Sirius said.

"Yes, I can hear," Remus barked back, glowering. "About bloody time."

"Shut up, Moony. Quick, stand behind the door. Block his way out when he comes in."

Remus took his position, still glaring at Sirius with a burning intensity. He did not appreciate being dragged into this particular mission. That close to the full moon, he preferred staying indoors, consuming untold amounts of herbal tea. Sirius' attempts to rekindle their monthly escapades into the Forbidden Forest had failed. His attempts to sabotage Remus' supply of Wolfsbane Potion hadn't gone much better.

 _Something's missing,_ thought Sirius. He could hear the slow, lumbering steps of the man climbing the stairs.

"Try to look less like you're in pain," Sirius instructed. "More menacing."

Remus' glare intensified further, breaking into a grimace full of bared teeth, made wilder by the unshaven stubble. Sirius nodded in appreciation.

"That's perfect." Then, to himself, he muttered quietly, "Places, curtain up... action."

Cornelius Fudge drifted in, shutting the door of the study without looking behind him. Sirius noticed the deep purple under his eyes and the wandering gaze.

He hugged the curtain while the Minister fell heavily into the cushioned chair behind the desk and summoned a bottle of amber-gold liquid from the liquor cabinet. He popped the cork and was about to pour himself a glass when he raised his gaze to the window. The bottle fell from the suddenly limp fingers.

"Sirius Black," Fudge whispered.

Sirius flashed him a feral smile. "Good evening, Minister. I was hoping we could talk."

For a split second Fudge seemed to consider running, but then saw Remus in front of the door. The option of escape gone, he sank deeper into the chair, resigned. "What do you want?"

Sirius approached the desk and with a gesture summoned Remus over as well. They sat on the two available chairs opposite Fudge.

"You could offer us a glass, first," said Sirius, pointing at the bottle. Most of its contents had spilled out over the desk.

Fudge swallowed and reached under the desk for two more glasses and poured a finger of the alcohol in each. His hand hovered over his own glass and he looked up at Sirius hesitantly.

"Oh, please. The host should drink along."

He took a sip, while Remus and Fudge downed their glasses in one gulp. Shaking, Fudge poured himself what was left in the bottle and drank that as well.

"Now that we're properly liquored up, let's talk about Lord Voldemort."

Fudge made a strange, stifled sound. "Morgana," he mumbled, "everything has gone _so wrong..."_

"Hasn't it?" Sirius agreed, seizing his opening. He and Dumbledore had gone over several possible scenarios, crafting the arguments to address each of them. "Nurmengard and Azkaban attacked. Suspicious rumours mounting. Wolves closing in on every side," Sirius recited the well-rehearsed words. "How can you not see that this is Voldemort's doing?"

Fudge straightened in his seat, eyes widening, as if he'd been struck by the Cruciatus Curse. "You're his- you-"

Sirius looked on sternly. "I have never served Voldemort. Crouch made a mistake."

"But- the Potters-" Fudge stammered.

"Were betrayed, yes. But not by me."

Here, Sirius spun a half-true tale of Peter's deception and escape to Eastern Europe, where he eventually found his master.

"Peter Pettigrew is alive and currently in my custody."

Fudge didn't look convinced. That suited Sirius just fine. It was important that he was listening. He would believe once he saw Peter.

"Minister," he continued, leaning forward. "I understand why you repress the truth. We both remember the last war. Voldemort damn near _won."_

He kept his voice firm, but friendly. He aimed to ignite a fire of carefully balanced fear, curiosity and ambition in Fudge and he only had one shot at this.

"No one in their right mind _wants_ his return. Probably not even Death Eaters. I've had enough time to talk to them in Azkaban. Voldemort was not a benevolent master. After all, many Death Eaters have lived quite cozy lives since that Halloween, haven't they?"

"Well..." Fudge looked conflicted. A step in the right direction, but Sirius had to keep up the momentum while he had it.

"That war was a horror. Entire families wiped out. People disappering, only to turn up dead, or worse. Voldemort's return means the resurrection of all those fears. I understand, I really do. Better than most. James Potter was like a brother to me."

Sirius paused, probing Fudge's reaction. He he saw fear and apprehension in the Minister's face, but also hesitation... and a desire to know more, to keep listening. He bit down on his tongue to prevent a grin. _It's working, it must be!_

"No one wants to deal with that kind of threat. For months now, a boy and an old man have been urging you to do just that. And here I am, asking you to trust them. I know you're scared and that's why you oppose Dumbledore and my godson, but fear doesn't give you the right to make them into liars."

He paused again, giving Fudge an opportunity to process what he'd heard so far. This was his chance to ask a question, but the Minister didn't utter a word. Sirius took a deep breath and carried on.

"But I am not here to put you down..."

 _Though Remus might be._

"...I want to open your eyes, Minister. Lord Voldemort has returned. Now he's all but announced it. People are afraid and they will become vengeful – you're a politician, you know that! They will demand an explanation, they'll want to know why they were lied to. Heads will roll, Minister. Whose do you imagine will be the first people will scream for?"

Sirius let the threat hang in the air for a moment to sink in. Fudge was gripping the armrests so hard that his fingers had paled.

"The Minister who lied to them," Sirius said, barely above a whisper. In the tomb-like silence of the room, his words took on the magnitude of explosions. "The Minister who failed to do his duty towards the people and the country."

Sirius had practiced this speech a dozen times a day, consulting Dumbledore over every single word. If he wanted to get through to Fudge, he had to speak in a way the Minister could understand.

"You've walked the easy path so far, but Voldemort has made his first move. Denial is no longer an option. Your job would be a small price to pay for your failings. Time has come to make a choice. Carry on as you have and go down in history as a coward. What you've been doing amounts to handing the country over to Voldemort. You will become one of the most hated men in our history. That's not a title any patriot would want to bear."

Sirius prayed for the time to go faster. He'd had enough of his own voice by now.

Fudge found the strength to tear his gaze away from the increasingly angry-looking werewolf and look at Sirius. "...Or?" he asked, a flicker of hope present in his voice.

Sirius shaped his face into an intense, presumably inspiring expression he had tried out in front of the mirror for just this occasion. "Or you can rise to the challenge and prepare us for Voldemort. Become the greatest leader Britain has known."

The silence that followed stretched mercilessly, long enough that Sirius began losing his confidence.

 _Damn it, I thought I had him._

"Mr. Black," Fudge said then, "I cannot... not without proof..."

"You'll have your proof," Sirius interrupted. "For now, think on what I said. The proof you require will make itself known soon enough."

His performance complete, Sirius and Remus swiftly left Fudge's residence, silent as ghosts.

Meeting Sirius Black and living should make Fudge wonder. The seed had been planted. It was Dumbledore's job to see it bear fruit.


	19. CHAPTER SIX: Turning Point, Part 2

**CHAPTER SIX: Turning Point**

 **Part 2**

Hogwarts was a blurry monolith in the distance, the shape distorted by a curtain of rain. Feeling the first droplets on his cloak, Draco cursed himself for leaving his warm, enchanted robe at home. He had dressed to impress, but he wouldn't be very intimidating soaking wet.

Not for the first time in recent weeks, he thought how much he missed Hogwarts. He'd never thought about it while he was there – as he had learned, poeople often took things for granted. He missed it all – the respect of his peers, the magnificent banquets, even the classwork. He had been able to study magic at his leisure. No one complained when he spent his nights bent over a cauldron, but perhaps the most striking loss was the freedom to use magic whenever he pleased.

Hogwarts was a small piece of the world, but it had been enough. Now, he had duties he had to fulfill, barely any free time, and he couldn't simply magic away all his troubles. He was free to spellsling at the Manor or Mulciber's estate, but anywhere else, he was restricted to apparition and his potions. Bless Merlin, at least he still had that.

Rain was coming down hard and within minutes he was soaked all the way through and the cold was getting to him. He reached to his belt, where he had several vials. He didn't leave home these days without a selection of handy brews.

He popped the cork on his chosen potion and threw it back in one gulp. The Pepper-up Potion, expertly mixed with a bit of Firewhisky and bitter asphodel, flooded him with an overwhelming heat. The initial burn passed quickly, quelled by the asphodel. He loosened the cloak – he had begun sweating – but at least he wasn't freezing anymore. He much preferred that.

He consulted his watch. Nott was obscenely late. Draco couldn't quash the growing suspicion that he was doing it on purpose. Who knew, maybe Nott was watching him from the trees, prolonging the wait just to be spiteful.

When Nott finally emerged from the forest, Draco was ready to skin him alive. Nott sauntered into the clearing, perfectly dry, not a drop on him. Draco recognised the Impervious Charm.

"Draco," Nott drawled. "Have you forgotten your umbrella?"

Draco could only imagine how he looked, with wet hair clinging to his forehead.

"You're late," he said, ignoring Nott's taunting. "I've been waiting for more than an hour."

Nott's smirk was replaced with an angry snarl. "Pardon me for wasting your precious time, your lordship. It's not easy sneaking out to the Forest with the staff on high alert, you know. They've gone positively paranoid without Dumbledore."

"It's not my time you're wasting, but the Dark Lord's," Draco replied, noting with satisfaction how quickly colour drained from Nott's face. "Enough of this. Have you made any progress?"

After a moment's hesitation, Nott shook his head.

"How can that be?" Draco demanded. "You were provided all the necessary tools, the spells, the runes. Can you not follow simple instructions?"

"You know well we were supposed to be doing that together!" Nott barked. "I'm having to do all of the work on my own-"

"All of the work?" Draco interrupted. "And who do you think deals with all the research and Arithmancy? I'm doing my part even away from Hogwarts, while you have repeatedly failed to do yours."

"Don't you scold me. You fucked up, Malfoy. You're not better than me."

Draco smiled. He had been waiting for this moment. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong."

Nott's eyes grew wider and he reached beneath his robes.

"Ah-oh," Draco intoned. "We're off Hogwarts grounds. You don't want to bring Aurors to us, do you?"

Nott hesitated, then lowered his hand. At that instance, Draco made his move.

He plucked another vial from the belt and flicked it at Nott. The specially enchanted brittle glass shattered, the clear liquid splashing on Nott's face. Nott had been to slow to cover himself and screamed.

Draco closed the distance and pushed Nott backwards. The fellow Slytherin stumbled back, tripping on uneven ground. Draco knelt down, one knee on Nott's chest.

"Stop screaming already, you pathetic little worm," Draco snapped. "It was just water."

Nott stopped struggling, staring at Draco wide-eyed.

"This one isn't."

Draco tipped a second vial over Nott's face. The Miasmic Concoction was commonly used for cleaning difficult wounds. It burned away dirt, foreign tissue, charred and necrotic flesh. It was also particularly painful on the patient, so the procedure called for putting the recipient to sleep first.

This time, the screams were real.

Draco uncorked the last vial he had prepared for Nott. Draught of Living Death, weakened by adding fresh sunflower seeds, an ingredient in the Wit-Sharpening Potion. Enough to effectively render the imbiber a deflated sack of meat and bones, unable to move or speak, but awake and feeling. Draco called this modified recipe the Pocket Body-Bind.

While Nott was screaming his lungs out, Draco pressed a thumb on his throat and deflty poured the last vial's contents into his mouth. Nott swallowed on reflex. The potion worked its magic and within seconds, Nott laid in silence even as his face still burned under the Miasma.

Draco smiled. Nott's eyes spoke volumes of what he was experiencing.

"I know it hurts. It's meant to," Draco whispered, leaning in closely. "I know you can hear me, so overcome your instinct to focus on the pain and try to listen."

He clamped down on Nott's neck, squeezing dangerously close to choking... No, he couldn't kill him, the Dark Lord needed him at Hogwarts.

"We may both wear the Dark Mark," Draco purred, teeth bared, "but do not delude yourself into thinking you're the same as me, Theodore. _We are not equals."_

Draco stood, scraping Nott's neck as he released him.

"The paralysis will wear off within the hour. Find Snape when you return to the castle, or else you'll have to live with all those extra holes in your face. That could raise unnecessary suspicion."

Nott kept staring at him with a mixture of fear and hatred.

"Your purpose is to carry out the Dark Lord's orders. Do that and we'll get along just fine."

Draco assumed a leisurely pace as he left Nott behind. Once he was comfortably alone, he drew on the power within him, throwing his body forward through space, twisting in place. He emerged at his destination with a twirl of his cloak. He made sure there was no one else near the boat house and released the pressure that had built up, laughing out loud, a shrill, high laugh of elation at what he'd done.

Nott would attempt to retaliate next time, of that there was no doubt. He would demand a meeting closer to Hogsmeade, where they could cast magic and not be compromised. He would likely realise what Draco was thinking now. It was Draco's job to surprise Nott in a way he wouldn't expect. Something bold. He had some time to prepare.

He exited the boat house and looked up at Mulciber Manor. Mulciber, a more sadistic bastard the world had not seen. But, for all that Draco would love to test some of his experimental brews on the Butcher, he couldn't say he wasn't an effective teacher. No class, of course, what with his crass jokes and a fake facade of congeniality, but what he could do with a wand... Draco would be a fool to dismiss that.

Composed, he wiped the lingering humour from his lips and trekked up to the mansion. The door was, as always, unlocked. No one was there in the hall to receive him. Wormtail had usually played that part, but he wasn't available anymore. Draco turned to the central staircase, but then the ballroom opened and someone beckoned him closer. Draco would have recognised that particular mask immediately.

Father gestured for him again.

Most times, the gatherings took place upstairs, in the dining room, where a lavish meal would be served afterwards. If the Dark Lord had opted for a more official setting, it could mean anything. Suddenly Draco's throat felt very dry.

In the ballroom, several dozen people had gathered. Greyback's werewolves were the most numerous group – presently they constituted the majority of the Dark Lord's forces, unless one counted the dementors.

The twelve masked members of the Inner Circle stood in a half-circle, flanking the Dark Lord's throne where he was sitting, his fingers tapping a soft melody on the armrests.

The crowd was silent as Draco moved through it, parting in front of him until he knelt before the Dark Lord. His healing was complete – gone was the snakelike facade Draco had witnessed in the summer, replaced by an image of appeal and strength. It was hard to believe the Dark Lord was much older than Father.

"Stand, Draco," the Dark Lord said. "Look at me."

Draco did. The Dark Lord liked getting a first-hand account of events. Draco met the red eyes. It was over in a flash, with just a painful sting.

The Dark Lord looked at someone over Draco's shoulder.

"Your son is trying my patience, Vilhelm," he said, sounding more bored than anything else, though his voice carried a hint of anger. "How come he cannot perform the simple task asked of him?"

A murmur went through the crowd. As much as Draco wanted to see Vilhelm Nott's face, he remained facing the Dark Lord.

"His excuse of having to work on his own is rather pathetic. But he will have the help he wants. If he fails again, I will give him to Fenrir to do with as he pleases. Now, leave us. You stay, Draco."

The crowd cleared the ballroom. The Dark Lord rose from his seat.

"Perhaps you're wondering why I've not brought up your uncustomary goodbye with Theodore," he said quietly.

Draco remained silent, unsure if he should respond.

"You may speak," the Dark Lord prompted. "We are alone. We're talking. Speak your mind. I do not punish my Death Eaters for thinking."

"I'd had enough of Nott's failings, my Lord," Draco said. "I couldn't stand his attitude. He's flippant, as if our cause is just something to impress others with."

The Dark Lord smiled. It no longer looked grotesque on his now handsome face. "I applaud both your honesty and your zeal. Despite your own shortcomings, you're trying your best. I appreciate that."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"How you choose to deal with Theodore is your business, unless it impairs his performance. You're welcome to challenge Jervis if you so wish... although I suppose it would be prudent to wait a few years before you do. Jervis is one of my finest and his position is well-earned. However, if your tactics cause Nott to fail again, I will hold you responsible."

Draco felt the blood drain from his face. Maybe intimidating Nott wasn't the best idea. He had put his pride before his duties... No, he couldn't back out now. If he did, Nott would take it as a victory and push back harder, and Draco couldn't abide by that. He had stepped onto this path – he had to walk it until the end.

"As you've no doubt noticed, there are vacancies in the Inner Circle," the Dark Lord said.

Draco's heart leapt up to his throat. Yes, Father had told him the Inner Circle customarily numbered fourteen. Right now, there were only twelve.

"Two of their number have left us, one way or another..."

Draco knew. Crouch, Kissed by a dementor on the Minister's orders, and Karkaroff, the traitor.

"I am looking for worthy replacements. It is true that most have served me for years before being elevated, but we live in different times now. I have a task for you, Draco. You will, of course, continue to work with Theodore."

Draco felt excitement and dread at the same time. He was busy enough already and failure equaled punishment, but this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. A chance to redeem his mistake.

"One of Fenrir's wolves has gone missing following an encounter with Remus Lupin. There was one other person involved. I suspect it was Potter, but I must know for certain. Greyback has been unable to locate her. Her name is Sally-Anne Perks."

Draco frowned. The name seemed distantly familiar...

The Dark Lord walked up closer and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco met his gaze again, not blinking.

"One of the Inner Circle failed in this, so it's only fitting that if someone outside of it should prove more competent, they would deserve to stand _in_ the Circle. Bring me this girl, Draco, and you shall earn a silver mask."

~~oOo~~

Harry heard the faint sound of conversation as he approached the Chamber. The others were already there. The basilisk slithered forward from one of the side passages as he walked past. He pated the hard scales on the snout.

 _"How have you been?"_

 _"I bring news, master,"_ the basilisk hissed softly, _"from my brethren in the woods above."_

That was unsual. The basilisk had never brought 'news' before. It was an initiative Harry didn't think it was capable off. For all its intelligence, it was still a snake.

 _"What have you learned?"_

 _"Ill-welcome trespassers in the forest. Recently. Regularly. The week's end."_

 _"What kind of trespassers? People?"_

The basilisk's tongue flicked outward. _"Yes."_

Harry mulled over it for a minute, wishing Parseltongue was a more precise language. _"Snakes from the forest told you of this?"_

The basilisk blinked its great yellow eyes. _"Yes, master."_

 _"Tell your brethren to stay vigilant."_

The basilisk moved its gargantuan head in a very human gesture. _"No,"_ it hissed.

Harry took a step back. This had never happened before. The basilisk had always been perfectly obedient. _"No? Why not? Do they not listen to you?"_

 _"They do, master, but they are not as I."_ The great snake tasted the air again. _"They see, but do not find."_ The basilisk then looked up at the ceiling. The gesture seemed... hopeful, almost. _"They do not find. I see. I look. I can find things."_

Harry let out the air in a shrill whistle when he finally understood. The basilisk was offering to look for those 'tresspassers'. It wanted out of the underground complex.

Harry hestitated. The basilisk had already proved it was uncommonly intelligent for one of its kind – it was not unlike Hedwig in this way. And it had never directly disobeyed orders or tried to find loopholes in the rules imposed upon it. Still, he couldn't give it permission to trudge through the Forbidden Forest without Dumbledore's consent. Besides, centaurs would probably object. And how well-suited was a sixty foot snake to being a spy, anyway?

 _"Stay down here for now. I... will think about it and give you my answer."_

He felt a sting of guilt. Though it couldn't show it, the basilisk gave off an overwhelming impression of disappointment.

 _"I'm not saying no,"_ Harry said. _"But I need to think about this."_

His assurance did little to placate the snake, but it nonetheless obeyed and slithered away into the tunnels, most likely towards the lake where it often rested. Harry entered the Chamber lost in thought.

Ron shoved him good-naturedly when he approached. "Hey mate," he said. "What? Why the long face?"

"Sorry, Ron. Just... thinking."

They joined the group gathered further in. Hermione was heatedly defending Transfiguration principles McGonagall often lectured on to a bemused Sirius, who was clearly getting a kick out of shooting her down.

"You can't just skip the most important step of the process!" she insisted.

Sirius cracked a grin. "Sure I can. That's what happens every time I turn a beetle into a button."

"But that's what facilitates the spell in the first place!"

Ginny shared an exasperated look with Moody, who offered a nod and a grunt in agreement. Harry held back a laugh seeing that exchange.

"Look at him," said Sirius, pointing at Harry, who raised his hands in a gesture of innocence.

"I just got here."

"Do you think Dumbledore lectures him on Transfiguration theory?" Sirius continued. "No, he just tells him to do something and he does it. It may take time, but in the end he understands the magic no worse than you – just differently."

"Universal truths don't change just because you ignore them," Hermione said.

"Pardon, but you're looking at this like a muggle," said Sirius. "Your perspective informs you that there's a set of unchanging rules governing how magic behaves. Let's put it like this: the Earth is obviously round. With magic, it's flat too, if that's a perspective you feel more comfortable with."

Hermione looked utterly unconvinced. Harry allowed himself a covert smirk. It wasn't often that he understood something about magic that Hermione didn't.

"But enough prattle," said Sirius. He clapped his hands, the stark sound of it drawing everyone's attention. "Let's do something useful. Wands out!"

Harry was nervous at first when Moody decreed he would be fighting against even greater odds than he had become accustomed to, but the had learned to cast away all distraction when dueling. Where there had been hesitation, there was now only purpose. Uncertainty vanished as soon as spells flew, replaced by a duelist's instinct.

Harry was facing three opponents, closing in from different directions. Fast as he was, he couldn't keep up with the onslaught of curses and hexes heading his way.

 _Focus! Distract them. Give them another target._

His feet dotted what seemed like a complex dance routine as he kept backing away from the attackers. His manoeuvre worked – Ginny and Hermione moved laterally, closing the distance to Ron, who advanced between them. Now, all three were attacking from roughly the same direction. Harry found his breathing room.

He placed a charm on his glasses with a quick, snapping gesture in between subsequent blocks. He then conjured a shield, pouring magic to the brim into the spell. A volley of hexes collided with it in a blinding flare and for a second Harry saw the others cover their eyes. Seizing the opening, he levelled a bludgeoner at Hermione. As he'd expected, she had protected herself even through his trick, but it wasn't enough to completely repel his spell.

Ron and Ginny, unshielded, stumbled back. As they rejoined the fight, Harry aimed at the floor just in front of the group. The ancient stonework explosed upwards in a shower of debris. Harry coated the rockfall in heat and his friends jumped back, shielding against and banishing the superheated stone.

Harry danced away from haphazardly aimed stunners, throwing his left arm out, the silent Conjuration wrapping a length of chain around Hermione's ankles. With a flick he disarmed her and then banished her upper body, toppling her. Bolstered by this success, he stepped up to meet Ron and Ginny's volley. They were noticeably slower then him. He kept pace with them, though just barely, taunting them with a brash grin.

Ginny made a mistake first.

She took her time performing the motions for her next spell with feverish precision. Harry dropped to one knee, ducking under Ron's spell, his own jinx interrupting Ginny and throwing her into the air, where she pirouetted and landed in a heap twenty feet back. Another short exchange heated up between him and Ron. He blocked Ron's casting before his friend could finish it and finally moved in to end the duel.

Wand flowing smoothly through gestures, Harry glanced at the broken stonework, picked one and drew him arm back, _pulling,_ though not physically. The stone leapt into the air, elongating and within a blink it was a whip. His next spell barely a thought, Harry set the whip on fire, then cracked it at Ron.

The whip crackled, spewing sparks upon colliding with Ron's shield, but Harry wasn't done. Animating the whip, he directed it to slash at the floor. It burned scars into the stone where it hit and thin lines of flame burst up from them. Harry backed Ron into a corner, two walls of fire burning behind him as the whip rose up to strike again.

Harry sent a bludgeoner flying low at Ron's knees as he frantically tried to destroy the whip with a Blasting Curse. The bludgeoner passed through a wall of flame, parting it for a split second and took Ron's legs out from under him. One more Disarming Spell and the duel was over.

Harry undid most of the mess, leaving the floor for Dumbledore to fix – only he could manipulate the Chamber's enchantments to renew itself if damage was incurred during Sirius' lessons.

As Harry returned his friends' wands and helped them up, Sirius approached, clapping slowly.

"Bravo," he said. "That was a good show."

"You three are no good anymore," Moody commented.

Hermione straightened her skirt. "I've never seen you Transfigure anything that fast."

"Practice makes perfect," said Sirius. "It just happens that he practices with Albus Dumbledore."

Harry shot Sirius a meaningful look and tossed his head to the side. Sirius nodded in understanding.

"Hey, Mad-Eye, entertain this lot for a while, would you?"

They left the rest of the group behind and ducked into one of the tunnels. Harry cast his voice out and ordered the basilisk away from the lake. Once they stood on the stone outcropping in the enormous cavern, the glass-still water at their feet, Harry asked, "What are you doing about Peter?"

Sirius sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I'm pants at this parenting thing, aren't I?"

"I get it," Harry cut in, "I'm not allowed anywhere near him. But I want to know that things are in motion."

"Fudge is being worked on," Sirius said. "Everything else is in place. Scrimgeour is on board, finally, and so is Crouch. Even so, we can't make our move until the Ministry changes its official stance and we want to let Fudge take the heat for that."

"Alright, that's good enough, I guess," Harry said. He crouched down and brushed his fingers over the surface of the water. It was freezing, leaving an ice-burn on his skin. There were no ripples, even when a snake's head poked through the surface nearby. With a hiss, Harry sent it back into the black depths.

"I still don't know if this is the right thing to do... I mean, it _is,_ , I wasn't- I meant that it will make you an even bigger target for Voldemort when you're not hiding anymore."

Sirius laid a hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer. "It'll be fine. Voldemort already wants us all dead."

"It does matter, Sirius," Harry said, his voice laden with quiet confidence. He knew he was right about this. "I think he wants to kill me because of the prophecy. It's just... pragmatism. If we go out of our way to oppose him, he'll stop taking it slow."

Sirius frowned. "What are you saying, exactly?"

"Maybe we should delay. Just for a while."

Sirius shook his head. "I know this comes from the right place, Harry... but this is not your decision to make. I've been a fugitive long enough. There is no debate here. And we won't win by avoiding confrontation."

Harry swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "Sometimes... sometimes I wish it was Neville, not me. That I didn't have to be in the middle of this."

Sirius leaned in, speaking in a whisper, "Sometimes I wish that too. You don't think I'm scared? Fear is one of the things that keeps a man alive. It doesn't make you a bad person, Harry – just makes you human." Sirius turned to face him, both hands on Harry's shoulders. "I don't tell you this enough – Merlin knows I can be unpleasant... I am so proud of you, Harry. You're the best person I've ever met. You're the best of us all."

Harry raised his own hand to Sirius' arm and they stood there like this, at arm's length, heads bowed, eyes closed. No more words or gestures were needed. Sirius' fingers squeezed a little harder and it told Harry more than words could.

Sirius ran a thumb under his eyes. Harry smiled.

"Are those tears?"

"Forgot to blink," Sirius mumbled.

"It's okay if you cry, you know."

"Shut it."

"We were having a moment and-"

Sirius glared. "For your own good, don't finish that sentence. Let's go back, it's colder here than in a medusa's embrace."

"Not yet," said Harry. "There's something else I wanted to tell you." He described his meeting with Daphne Greengrass and her 'formal plea for alliance'.

Sirius stuck his hands in his pockets, staring up at the ceiling with a frown. "A formal plea, was it? I shall have to formally consider it then. Maybe take a stroll around the Greengrass Manor while I do it. You can tell your lady Slytherin not to worry. Just don't get caught. Ginny would be furious."

Harry slugged him in the arm. "Dolt. There's one more thing. Tell Sturgis I'd like to meet in person, if possible."

Sirius looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Whatever for?"

Harry shrugged. "I just want to ask him about something."

"I could relay a message," said Sirius.

"Thanks, but this is personal. No, it's not about the two of you," Harry added, seeing Sirius' expression. "But it's not something I'm comfortable putting in writing."

"Alright, what do I care," Sirius said, roling his eyes. "I'll tell him."

They walked back to the Chamber, their footsteps echoing in the tunnel, _clink-clink-clink._

"Hey you, the tall ginger one," Sirius barked at Ron. "Get over here."

Hermione and Ginny were dueling, spells flying dangerously. Distracted, Ginny glanced at Sirius, creating an opportunity which Hermione mercilessly exploited, nailing her with a Disarming Charm.

"Blast it!" Ginny exclaimed.

Ron walked over while Ginny and Hermione resumed their battle under Moody's watchful eye.

"Harry, sod off to the other end of the Chamber. Ron, with me."

Harry took his position, standing on the edge of the pond at Salazar's feet. His wand trembled with energy, eager to begin. Mindful of his footing, he braced himself when Sirius and Ron turned to face him.

Sirius smiled darkly, readying his wand. "You know the drill."

Harry matched Sirius' smile with one of his own. "I'm ready."

~~oOo~~

The first snowfall this year came early. The sky was darkened by a heavy cloud cover, and where the moon passed through gaps in it, it was obsured by the snow. Harry climbed the Astronomy Tower slowly – the upper steps were wet and slick. Reaching the roofed terrace at the top, he weaved a Warming Charm over his cloak, bracing against the night.

He hadn't stood at the railing for a minute when he heard footsteps coming up. Before he thought about it, he slid into a patch of darkness behind the spiral staircase.

An imprint of a foot suddenly appeared in the thin cover of snow on the floor, then another.

Ginny pulled the Cloak down over her head. Harry came forward, unabashedly staring at her. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and the wind whipped her hair about. Harry felt his stomach flip.

"Hey," he said, coming closer. "Um, sorry for staring."

Ginny smiled. "It's okay. I know I'm pretty."

Harry returned the grin. "You followed me up here?"

"You looked put out," Ginny said, tilting her head. "I thought you could use the company."

If she had entertained the notion that he didn't want company, she said it in a way that had Harry agreeing with her.

"Yeah." He reached out, taking her gloved hand in his. "We haven't really had time to hang out lately."

Ginny scrunched up her face. "Because you're always busy with something."

Harry sighed. "Yeah. But it's important."

"You know you can tell me anything, right? I can keep a secret."

"I know. I trust you just as much as Ron and Hermione," Harry said. "I'm not hiding things from-"

Ginny put a finger on his lips, cutting him off. "I don't expect you to tell me everything, but the least you could do is not lie to me. Or Ron. Or Hermione."

Harry cleared his throat. "Alright. Sorry. I _am_ hiding things, but I have my reasons."

"And that's good enough for me," Ginny said. "It's nice out tonight."

"Nice? It's practically a blizzard."

"There's beauty in nature's fury," Ginny purred, pulling him along. "I think this is a very romantic setting."

"You're stepping on the Cloak."

"You ruin everything, Potter," she said, smacking him playfully.

Harry collected the Cloak from her and carefully folded it, the material sliding between his fingers almost like liquid. Something caught his eye. A glitter of silver, embroided on the Cloak, glistening gently as it reflected the scarce moonlight.

"What is that?" he muttered. He raised the Cloak, letting it unfold and held it up against the moon flickering in and out of sight. A symbol he had never noticed was outlined with dull sparkles kindled by the moon. A line bisecting a circle, inside a triangle.

"Any idea what this might be?" Harry asked.

Ginny walked up, tracing the symbol with her hand.

"I know exactly what this is," she said. "It's the symbol of the Deathly Hallows."

"Deathly Hallows," Harry repeated, trying out the phrase. "Sounds... relic-like, or something." He folded the Cloak over his arm. "How do you know it?"

"One of our neighbours is kind of... what's the polite word..."

"Quirky?" Harry guessed.

"Yes. He has some intriguing theories about magical fauna and he's the editor of the Quibbler."

"That weird conspiracy theory paper? I'd say that's a lot more than quirky."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'm friends with his daughter and I visit sometimes. He wears a necklace with that same symbol. I asked him about it once and he told me about the Deathly Hallows."

"Well, what are they?"

"First, I'll tell you a story."

Harry blinked. "Pardon?"

"The Tale of Three Brothers," said Ginny, "one of Beetle the Bard's classics."

"I didn't grow up on bedtime stories, Gin."

"So enjoy your first one."

"Before I do, let's get out of this weather."

They descended below the tower's top and sat down on the stairs. Ginny recounted the Tale of Three Brothers, pointing to the emblem on the Cloak whenever she mentioned one of the Hallows.

"So, there it is," she said in the end. "The Deathly Hallows: the Wand of Destiny, the Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility. Gifts bestowed by Death itself."

Harry let the Cloak spill onto the steps below. "You said the brothers were Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus Peverell," he said. "That's very interesting."

"How so?

"Because I know where Ignotus Peverell is buried. Or, at least I know where to find a tombstone with that name. It's in Godric's Hollow."

Harry thought there was a conclusion to be drawn there, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He simply examined his Cloak in silence. Ginny, similarly, said nothing for a long while.

"One of the Deathly Hallows is the Cloak of Invisibility. This is such a cloak. And it bears the symbol of Deathly Hallows," Harry said. He turned to Ginny and they looked at each other, unmoving, uncertainty on their faces. Harry shook his head. "No, that's... crazy."

"Implausible at best," Ginny agreed.

"It's not even really a cloak," Harry pointed out. "Everyone calls it that, but it's more like a... Sheet of Invisibility."

Harry was suddenly struck by a thought and looked at the Cloak again. "Actually..."

He brought out his wand and let the Cloak fall from his hands. It spilled a few steps down. Harry aimed his wand.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa."_ The Cloak was lifted off the stairs and hovered before them like a ghost, billowing in the wind that found its was down here.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Ginny asked.

"I just want to try something..."

It wasn't any sudden epiphany – though he'd had those before – merely an idea. Within moments it burrowed itself in his head and with every second it seemed to make more sense. A _cloak_ of invisibility. It was so obvious. So _right._

He didn't cast any particular spell. If an appropriate one existed, he didn't know it, but he didn't need to. It was as much instinctual as it was conscious. Dumbledore had probably said something about it, but he never understood all of what the elder wizard taught him. He let his intent guide and shape the magic as he released it, closing it in an invisible cocoon around the Cloak.

A smudge of silver light brushed upwards along the cloth, then sideways. The Cloak flapped vigorously for a moment, as if caught in a gale wind, and then went still. Finally, the upper edge of it folded around a neck that wasn't there to hold it up and higher still, forming a hood. Two corners touched, silver light enshrouded them for a moment, and when it faded, it revealed a delicate silver clasp, shaped like the symbol of Deathly Hallows.

The Cloak floated over and fell into Harry's lap. "Well..." he said, "now it's a proper cloak."

Ginny reached over and picked up the clasp. "Did you do that?"

"Yes and no," Harry replied. "I wanted it there, but the shape didn't come from me. It just... happened."

"Harry..."

He looked at Ginny, her eyes wide and alight. Perhaps it was the lingering rush of magic, but he thought she had never looked prettier.

"What if it really is _the_ Cloak of Invisibility? A Deathly Hallow?"

"I don't know that it would matter. I don't want to hide from Voldemort, I want to fight him."

"Death," Ginny corrected.

"What?"

"The Cloak hides you from Death, not Dark Lords."

"Is there a difference?"

"I suppose not," Ginny admitted. She bit her lip. "Don't do anything stupid though."

"Um, what are you-"

"Fighting Voldemort. If you have to involve yourself, be smart about it."

For a second Harry wanted to explain to her that it wasn't a choice he made, he didn't _involve himself,_ , he had always been involved and all he could do was make the best of his situation. By the time he thought of it all, he decided to let it go. What was the point in arguing? He'd rather just enjoy the moment with her. They didn't get many of those.

"Smart. Yes. That's me," Harry said, with a self-deprecating edge to his voice. "I'm hungry all of a sudden. Let's go bother Dobby."

~~oOo~~

Sirius apparated onto the path with a flutter of his coat and cast a look around. He had only been here a handful of times. Twice for Christmas dinner – that had been in different times. Happier times. Danger had lurked around every corner, perhaps even moreso than now, but James and Lily had been alive. Peter... had still been a friend, or so they had thought, at least. Damn, he even missed Frank Longbottom and his bragging.

Gone. All of them.

He strode with purpose towards the gate. The fence was low enough that he could have just jumped over it. The lawn had been allowed to grow into an artistic chaos, dotted with shrubs and tall, grown trees. The house hiding behind them was as big as the most grandiose residences, but still looked cozy. Sirius glanced right, where he glimpsed the grand dining room through a window, where those Christmas gatherings had been held. James had loved to pop in for a visit. All in all, a perfect place to retire. Sirius graced it with a look of mild disgust. There were some things he and James had never agreed on.

He climbed the steps up to the front door and before he raised his hand to knock, it swung open.

"Master Sirius is welcomed. Master Albus beings awaiting you in the study."

Sirius looked down at the old elf. Now there was a butler to make a wizard proud. Perhaps the only advantage Dumbledore's home held over the comfortable gloom of Grimmauld Place.

Sirius nodded in greeting. "Hello, Sprinkle. Long time no see."

The elf said nothing in return, merely gestured him inside and then promptly disappeared. Sirius spun in place, taking in the freshly polished parquet and pale green walls. The place was typically immaculate, though something seemed out of place. Literally.

A piece of furniture was missing, an ancient, heavy cabinet which used to display Dumbledore's bizarre collection of bowling pins. It had been replaced by another window, overlooking the rear of the property. Sirius wondered if this was where Harry had blasted through the wall. He doubted Dumbledore had got bored of ten-pin bowling.

He followed the hallway to the study. The door was slightly ajar. He knocked.

"Come in."

Sirius pushed the door open.

"Close it, please."

The lights were out, the study dimly lit by catching a bit of the dying sunset. Dumbledore sat in an armchair in front of the quietly crackling hearth, wearing one of his less fabulous robes.

"You look like an old man, Albus."

Dumbledore smiled at him above his half-moon glasses. "Unsurprising, seeing as I am one."

Sirius hung his coat on the rack by the door and sank into the armchair opposite Dumbledore.

"I wasn't talking about your age," said Sirius. "You're tired."

"A consequence of the many burdens I bear."

This was a rare thing – a glimpse of Dumbledore who wasn't hiding who he was and who he considered himself to be. Sirius was still surprised by them. This had never happened back during the first war, though whether it did now because Dumbledore trusted him so much or he simply couldn't be bothered to pretend, Sirius didn't know.

"We all carry our own," said Sirius.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Yes, of course. But I have been doing it far longer than you."

Sirius didn't rush to explain himself. If they were being honest, Dumbledore knew this wasn't disrespect.

"Pardon my manners. Tea?"

"Why not."

Dumbledore didn't move, didn't even glance at the teaset, but it was undoubtedly his magic that bade the teapot to pour a cup and the cup to fly over. Sirius sipped it – not that he was a connoiseur, but the tea was excellent.

The silence stretched into minutes. Sirius was content to drink his tea, but once the teapot rushed to refill him, he'd had enough waiting.

"You didn't invite me over here for tea, Albus."

Dumbledore looked up. "You'll be pleased to know I have managed to convince Cornelius. I must admit, however, that your contribution was invaluable. I wish I could have witnessed it. No doubt it was an award-worthy performance."

"You didn't invite me to tell me that either."

With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore set his cup on the table and put his hands together in his lap. "You're right. Forgive the evasion. I was looking for how best to frame it."

"Plainly," said Sirius. "I find extravagant vocabulary pretentious."

"Very well. First, however, I'd like to know how Harry's doing."

"In what department?"

"All the relevant ones."

Sirius drummed his fingers on the armrest. The room was pleasantly tranquil and yet he couldn't relax. He'd felt slightly nauseous since he'd been asked to come here that morning. Dumbledore had something important to say today.

"He's tense. I can't be sure, but I think he's planning something. A few days ago, he asked me to relay to Sturgis that he wanted to meet privately."

"Any insights as to his intentions?" Dumbledore asked, staring at his feet, eyebrows furrowed.

"Not yet. Don't worry – I'll stop him from doing anything outrageously stupid."

"How is he with his friends?"

"As far as I can tell, well enough. All of them still worry about Hermione, Harry moreso than the others. But Ginny's been a good influence on him. I think. I'm not great at judging these things."

"I've no doubt you're correct. One can never have too many friends, and Harry only has precious few," said Dumbledore. "And your lessons?"

Sirius paused to search for the right words. They popped into his mind almost immediately. "He'll be better than all of us," he said, not without a degree of pride. "I don't think he'll ever be as good as you, but then few will."

Dumbledore looked up at him again, this time with apprehension. "What about his interest in Dark Arts?"

Sirius' smile faltered. Rebellion flared up in him. How could Dumbledore frown at Harry but tolerate Snape at the same time? "It hasn't gone away and I don't see why it should. He's _remarkably_ suited to them."

With a gesture, Dumbledore summoned his teacup back. "In that case, I shan't ask about it anymore. I trust you to have Harry's best interests at heart."

"I always do."

"I've never doubted that, Sirius, but sometimes I fear whether your judgement is as sound as you claim."

Sirius ran a hand down his face. It wasn't worth it to start an argument over this. He had to remind himself that even Dumbledore wasn't a man free of prejudice.

"No need. Remus will smack me around if it becomes compromised."

"Speaking of Remus, where has he been?"

"Off doing his werewolf thing. I think he's looking for someone. I don't know who it is, but I can tell it's personal."

"Should we be worried?"

Sirius snorted. "Remus? No, out of all of us, he may be the most sane."

"Lastly... How has Harry progressed with Occlumency?"

Sirius had no immediate answer, but Dumbledore didn't rush him. "He has a lot of anger. He needs to work through it. I need to get through that before we can make any real progress. I'm taking it slow for now."

"Do you think he can master the skill?"

"Frankly, no, but can anyone at that age? Not to mention everything he's got on his mind. I believe I can teach him to defend himself, but he's not spy material. I actually think he'd be much better with Legilimency."

The look Dumbledore gave him was colder than Sirius expected, but thawed quickly with the words that followed. "I leave it up to you, Sirius."

"Great. Can we get to whatever you've been putting off for ten minutes?"

Dumbledore rose from his seat and walked over to the window. Framed by the last red glimpse of the setting sun, he looked unreal. He straightened, stood taller, and suddenly the presence of the Dumbledore Sirius knew best filled the study.

"I am on the verge of a tremendous breakthrough," Dumbledore said, his hands clasped behind his back. "Due in no small part to studying the object you took from Jervis Mulciber, the progress I've made puts me closer to discovering Voldemort's secret than I've ever been." He turned to look at Sirius. "You have my word that I shall share all my findings once I'm confident in my conclusions. Whatever our differences, I believe you're the best suited to take over after me."

"Hopefully I won't have to," Sirius muttered.

"I have never expected to say this to you, but you underestimate yourself, Sirius. Others trust you. They view you as a leader, and with good reason." Dumbledore paced around the desk and retrieved an envelope from a drawer. "I don't plan on dying before Voldemort is defeated... But in the case of such an eventuality, I've prepared a secret cache containing everything I would otherwise relay in person. Here are instructions for finding and unlocking it. If circumstances render me unable to explain, use it and do whatever you deem necessary."

Sirius stood and accepted the envelope. It was sealed magically. "I'll keep it safe."

Knowing instinctively the envelope was his cue to leave he turned to the door, but Dumbledore's hand rached out and grabbed his wrist. The grip was surprisingly firm.

"Someday, Harry will need to know what this envelope guards. One of us _must_ be the one to tell him. He cannot stand against Voldemort without that knowledge."

Dumbledore let go of him.

"I cannot overstate how important this is."

With a nod, Sirius placed the envelope in his pocket and slipped on the coat. One hand on the doorknob, he turned to Dumbledore for the last time. "Can I expect you tomorrow? I'm sure Scrimgeour would be overjoyed."

"I will be there."

"Goodnight, Albus."

"Goodnight, Sirius."


	20. CHAPTER SIX: Turning Point, Part 3

**CHAPTER SIX: Turning Point**

 **Part 3**

Now that he didn't have to wear it over his head like a bedsheet, the Cloak made navigating the halls of Hogwarts a simple affair. There was still an exciting novelty to it, like the smell of a new broom that lingered for weeks. The Cloak – now properly a cloak – functioned perfectly, even though it was now technically open at the front. It wasn't until several days after Harry had performed his intuitive spell that he discovered he could control the Cloak's enchantments with just his thoughts. And though the garment reached his feat, it never got tangled under his shoes, not when climbing stairs nor while traversing the uneven ground in the Forbidden Forest.

Tonight, he had agreed to meet his new Slytherin acquaintances in one of the rarely used rooms on the ground floor, not far from the great Hall. In fact, it was more of a deep alcove than a room. Harry entered through the doorless archway and stopped right next to Daphne Greengrass and her boyfriend, marveling at the Cloak's abilities. The transformation had awakened hidden properties. His footsteps were silent. He left no footprints in the snow. Wearing the Cloak, he wasn't just invisible, he was _hidden._

"Hello," he said, assuming a cheerful tone as he revealed himself. His sudden appearance a foot away had the desired effect: the two Slytherins jumped, spooked.

"Merlin, Potter!" Greengrass hissed venomously.

"Don't let Snape hear you say that. He'll put you in detention for cheering me on."

"What?" she snapped, while Zabini masked a laugh by coughing into his fist.

"At least someone appreciates my jokes," Harry said, feigning hurt.

Greengrass glared daggers at them both. "You're lucky I put up a Silencing Charm. Someone could have heard us!"

"Who do you take me for?" Harry asked, allowing himself a note of nonchalance. "I knew the Charm was there. You should work on it, by the way. It's embarrassing, how crude it is. I can practically smell it."

Greengrass ignored his comment. "No Weasley escort tonight?"

Harry grinned. "None that you will see. Mr. Zabini," he added, greeting the other boy with a nod.

"Potter," Zabini murmured.

"Enough buffoonery," Greengrass said, then breathed out through her nose. "I asked you here to formally thank you for your assistance. My family will not forget it."

"You should be formally thanking Sirius Black. I was merely a messenger."

"My father already has. It's only proper that-"

"Great. And you're welcome. Glad I could help. Zabini…" Harry turned to face the tall Slytherin. "Sirius will chastise your stepdad, I'm chastising you. Next time you feel like sharing sensitive information, don't. Otherwise I'll pull your intestines out through your nose. I know a curse that does _exactly_ that."

He made to leave, but Greengrass grabbed his arm. "Wait, Potter."

"What?"

"Don't make light of this, please. Messenger or not, you had a hand in helping my family. I won't forget it."

She was being serious – he could see it in her voice, her face.

"Good," he said curtly. "Gotta go."

"I know you don't have many friends," Greengrass continued, still holding onto him. "None in Slytherin. I could help you change that."

She seemed eager enough to rouse suspicions. "What, just be friends? It doesn't work like that."

"Why not? Why can't it work like that? We're not little children anymore. We can choose our friends if we want to."

Harry pried her arm off and glanced at Zabini, but he seemed content to leave talking to Greengrass. "Friends have to be able to trust each other, Miss Greengrass. I don't even know you."

"Then get to know me," she countered. "Are you busy next Hogsmeade weekend?"

Harry squinted at her, frowning. What was the second bottom here? "Pushing it makes me less inclined to befriend you, not more. But if you really want to be friends, I'll think about it. I'll see you around."

With a thought, he had the Cloak hide him again and stepped outside, but plastered himself flat against the wall, still within the range of the Silencing Charm.

Zabini's head poked out. "I think he's gone."

"Hold on. _Homenum Revelio."_

Harry felt the spell's energy pass right through him. Thank Merlin Ginny had thought to test the Cloak for that.

"He's gone," said Greengrass, pocketing her wand. "I hoped he'd be more receptive. He seemed friendly enough the first time we talked."

Zabini's eyebrows rode up onto his forehead. "He disarmed us both. Is that what friendly is?"

"He could've done much worse," she argued. "He could have just confunded us and leave or simply refuse to listen. But he listened – and he agreed to help."

"Please, Daph." There was a mocking edge to Zabini's tone. "No one is that gullible."

"Fat lot of good you did. Why didn't you back me up?"

Zabini shrugged. "I don't really want to be friends with Potter. Too suspicious. Besides, why are you pushing for it?"

"The more I know, the better chances my family has of this surviving this war," said Greengrass, squaring her shoulder. "Whoever wins."

Harry decided he'd heard enough. Clearly, Greengrass was in this for the long term. He could play along, if it got him something. He made his way to the Entrance Hall and outside through the main door. He crossed the courtyard quickly, checking the time. He was going to meet-

An inexplicable sting of instinct came out of nowhere and he went for his wand, just in time to deflect… a Tickling Hex?

Harry spotted Sturgis standing off to the side. He shimmered into visibility.

"You're probably wondering how I knew where you were," Sturgis said, winking. "I put down a couple of trip wards around."

Harry narrowed his eyes, wand still trained on Sturgis. "How did our last conversation end?"

"I told you ask the honest question if you wanted an honest answer," the Hit-wizard replied. "Which I assume is why you wanted to meet me tonight."

"I was supposed to meet Sirius first, over at Hagrid's."

Sturgis nodded. "Sirius is busy planning a coup. I cut out the middleman. You're armed for an outing?"

Harry made a show of pointing at his wand. "I have this and the Cloak. Where are we going?"

"I want to introduce you to someone," Sturgis said, fishing out a portkey-medallion out of a pocket.

"A friend of yours?"

Sturgis smiled roguishly. "Friend is a big word. She's a colleague – and a person well-worth knowing. You'll see."

They used the portkey to travel to Grimmauld Place and from there, Sturgis told him to disappear under the Cloak.

Smiling, Harry got an idea. "Do _I_ need to be invisible, or just my face?"

With a tilt of his head, Sturgis matched the smile with his own. "A new trick up in your sleeve? I have noticed that your Cloak looks different."

Harry pulled up the hood and willed the Cloak to hide his face. It was almost like casting a spell, only not really, and he wasn't using his wand.

Sturgis whistled with appreciation. "I find myself growing jealous of that marvelous artifact."

"It's one of a kind."

"As is the place we're going to. Keep the hood up 'till I tell you otherwise."

As per safety protocol, Sturgis took them through several points in southern England before depositing both of them, as it turned out, in the London dock area. Harry followed Sturgis, walking arm in arm, his hand resting at the belt where he kept his wand. The Hit-wizard meandered between buildings until they ducked into a narrow passage and Harry felt magic wash over him when they stepped through an invisible barrier. No doubt a sheet of spells separating the wizarding district from the muggle London, though here, the transition was more subtly hidden than the ones at King's Cross or Diagon Alley.

They arrived at the bank of the Thames. Harry stopped, while Sturgis approached the edge and seemingly jumped down into the water. Frowning, Harry came closer. His companion stood below, on a rickety staircase nailed together from slick planks covered in green overgrowth.

"No fear," said Sturgis. "Looks flimsy, but there's some deft magic holding it from falling apart."

"Is that spell-o-tape?"

Sturgis chuckled and rapped on the handrail with his knuckles. "Here, I knocked on wood. Are you coming or not?"

Somewhat reassured, Harry followed, traversing the staircase as quickly as he dared. The stairs led down to a sewer opening, closed by a grate. Sturgis pulled out a playing card from a pocket and held it in front of a small gargoyle's head in the middle of the grate, which promptly fell apart, granting them entrance.

Harry glanced out at the river. The water level was high enough that it should be flooding the sewer's floor, but it bounced against some kind of repelling ward. A wave came crashing against it and the green water sloshed over the staircase. Harry came to the edge and stuck the tip of his shoe outside the border of the spell. He pulled the shoe back and reached out again, this time with his own magic.

He still couldn't quite describe it, though not for lack of trying. It wasn't a sensation or anything he could name. At first he had thought of it as an invisible, ethereal tendril of magic, but that sounded too much like a spell – this what was he actually thought of the Levitation Charm – and that wasn't it. Dumbledore had told him that some scholars, including his late friend Nicolas Flamel, had tried to describe what _it_ was, but no language seemed to include the necessary words. The closest Harry came up with was a quirky instinct, or perhaps a magical sense, or better yet – the magical equivalent of all his senses rolled into one.

 _It_ crept along the edge of the repelling ward and travelled up the wall, reaching out to lick the staircase as it passed by. Harry willed it to spread out wider, blanketing the width of the sewer tunnel. He went further in, past Sturgis, who was watching him curiously, and closed his eyes, tuning out unnecessary distractions.

Every inch of the tunnel was smothered in spells and wards, some superficial, others etched deeply, anchored to runes carved into the concrete and concealed with more magic. The entire area was permeated with enchantments, not just the tunnel. The spells sunk into the foundation of the docks, encircling some great empty space deeper down. Guided by the magical sense, Harry determined where the medium to which the spells were attached was less solid – the air in the tunnel formed a long, horizontal cylinder. He went along, keeping to the middle of the tunnel, until it turned abruptly. He stopped briefly, turned in place and resumed his walk. A bright, powerful magical beacon followed him a few steps behind – Sturgis.

He outstretched his left arm, towards the border between the cylinder and the more densely magical medium that surrounded it, smiling when his fingertips brushed the concrete.

The complex magical web weaved around the great open space ahead was intricate and smartly designed. He'd spent the most time observing the wards of Hogwarts and those protecting the Chamber of Secrets – the one here was nowhere near as old or powerful, of course, but the quality of craft was praiseworthy.

The cylinder of air ended and where it did, the central space was attached. Harry shut off the magical sight and opened his eyes. He stood before a circular archway. Above it hung a shield-shaped sign, adorned with the image of a key on the background of a cell door. Written below the image were the words, THE DUNGEON KEEPER.

"Did Dumbledore teach you that?" asked Sturgis, coming up to stand beside Harry.

"I don't know that he taught me," Harry said. "That would imply I've learned it. I'm not so sure I got it down so well that I couldn't get better. Dumbledore… is on a whole different level."

"I've only seen it done once before."

"You didn't ask him to teach you?"

Sturgis shrugged his shoulders. "I did. He refused. Said he wasn't much of a teacher."

Harry frowned. "Dumbledore said that? But he loves teaching."

"I didn't say it was Dumbledore."

Before Harry had a chance to inquire further, Sturgis went inside.

Once through the threshold, Harry found himself surrounded by music, laughter, the banging of cups on tables, screeching of bar stools being moved, the sloshing of drinks being poured. As far as wizarding bars went, he only had the Leaky Cauldron and the Three Broomsticks to compare this one to – the Dungeon Keeper seemed like a mix of both, with the former's atmosphere and the latter's lively crowd.

The space looked like part old tube station, part goblin cavern. A long bar ran alongside the back wall where the stairs would normally be. The tiles had been ripped off and replaced with wooden panels and shelves, straining under a display of liquors of all kinds. The place was packed, each stool taken and every table boasting a full compliment of patrons talking, joking and arguing. The cavern-like part was removed from the general area and tables there were less densely occupied and hidden in private booths on several levels along a short, steep slope.

Sturgis came back from the bar toting two tall glasses full of what looked like Butterbeer, but Harry couldn't be sure.

"Come on," Sturgis said, swiftly manoeuvring through the throng of people towards the only empty booth. Harry slid onto the leather-upholstered circular bench. The booths were expertly enchanted with Silencing Charms – the outside noise was muted, allowing for a conversation without raising one's voice.

"Ah, this is the life," Sturgis said, setting the drinks down. "It's good to have friends in many places, Harry. Booths here have to be reserved three weeks in advance. Only reason I was able to get one for tonight is because I know the owner."

"It doesn't look like the kind of place you'd need to make reservations for."

"Why, because it's not upperclass?" Sturgis replied, sporting a mocking smile. "That's not what the Dungeon Keeper is _for,_ Harry. Plenty of people will pay for privacy and this is what the Queen of Hearts provides."

"Queen of Hearts, really?" Harry asked, amused. "Did she come up with that on her own?"

"No, that's what her fans call her."

"She has fans, does she?"

"Her love potions are supposed to be legendary. I can't say I've seen their effects in person."

Harry snorted into his drink. "She sells love potions? Those actually exist?"

"Oh, it's mostly stuff older people use to spice up their bedroom life," Sturgis said blandly. "She's a far cry from a potions master, but handy enough with a cauldron."

"Now I regret asking," Harry muttered, staring down into his glass, contemplating the liquid within. Anything to purge the last minute from his mind.

"...though I reckon she's more bothered by all her adorers," Sturgis said thoughtfully, looking in the direction of the bar.

"Mhm, what?"

The Hit-wizard rolled his eyes. "Nevermind. But enough chit-chat. As pleasant as this is, I have other things to do. So, out with it."

Harry squinted at the man sitting across from him, trying to decide if Sturgis looked like a killer. There were some things about him that Harry couldn't help but notice – his attitude, confidence bordering on arrogance sometimes, which was nonetheless backed up by the unobtrusively displayed skill. Sturgis didn't seek out acknowledgement, but when it was offered, he accepted it with an air of nonchalance Harry had seen from one other person – Sirius. Wait. One? What about… Mulciber?

Now that he thought about it, those three men seemed like different versions of one person. What would happen if he befriended James Potter? What if he became a Death Eater, or a Hit-wizard? Line the three of them up and dim the figurative lights, and it would be nigh impossible to tell them apart. Harry wondered if any of them impersonated any of the other two, would he be able to spot the impostor?

There was some kind of bad blood between Sirius and Sturgis. Harry only now realised he _had_ seen some clues as to what might have happened, but just never picked up on them. Some of his conversations with Sirius suggested something unpleasant had taken place that involved someone close to him, a relative perhaps, or a friend? He couldn't help thinking that Mulciber was somehow involved. There was no logical reason to assume so, but he had learned to trust his instinct.

His original intent for the meeting momentarily forgotten, Harry fixed Sturgis with an inquisitive gaze. "That pseudo-feud you have with Sirius… it's got something to do with Mulciber, doesn't it?"

Sturgis' glass stopped midair, halfway to his mouth. His brow creased with a slight grimace. "I suppose you would have figured it out sooner or later."

Harry leaned forward, low over the table, and lowered his voice. "What the hell happened with you three?"

Sturgis, in turn, leaned back, draping his arms on the rim of the backrest. "That's not how this works, Harry. This is privileged information, not something I'll give free of charge. There has to be an exchange."

"I could just ask someone else," Harry retorted.

"Yes, one of two other people alive who know the story. You already asked Sirius and he told you no. Mulciber would probably tell you though. Good luck finding him."

Deflated, Harry had to admit to himself that he had no trick card to play here. "Alright, let's make it a deal. What do you want?"

"Your Cloak," Sturgis replied immediately.

"My Cloak?" Harry repeated, taken by surprise.

"Yes. If you want to know the story, I want to borrow your Cloak. For a month."

"Why do you need my Cloak?" Harry blurted out.

"I don't _need_ it, I just want to borrow it. Beyond that, it's none of your business, frankly. This is the deal."

"I'll have to think about it," Harry said, hesitant.

"Suit yourself." Sturgis collected their empty glasses. "I'll go get us a refill. Think about if you want to ask me this honest question after all."

Harry sat in the darkened booth in silence, collecting his thoughts and resolve. Now that the time had come, he would rather gloss over the issue like he had done the first time. Something told him if he faltered tonight, Sturgis wouldn't be willing to listen again. Clearly, the Hit-wizard wasn't one for wasting time.

 _The more you think about it, the more undecided you are,_ he chastised himself. Steeled with newfound determination, he waited only as long as it took Sturgis to sit back down once he came back with more Butterbeer.

"Have you ever murdered someone?"

He didn't even have time to regret his words as soon as he spoke them, because Sturgis' reply was equally prompt and straightforward.

"Yes, I have," the Hit-wizard said flatly. "And if you're wondering, it was justified and I've never felt guilty over it."

Harry sank into the leather upholstery. His gaze scattered, flicking between the other patrons, the band playing on the stage and the bartender, deftly pouring drink after drink. "What did you do?" he asked quietly, pointedly looking away from Sturgis.

"There was a witch… years ago… We had come into conflict over some personal issues. I allowed it to escalate, even though I knew better. It turned ugly, bitter, violent. She spilled blood first – of someone very dear to me. I responded in kind. I took revenge. And that's all I'm going to say about this," Sturgis added after a pause. "But it's not an original story."

 _Revenge._ The shame that had sprouted when he asked 'the honest question' evaporated quickly once this word was uttered.

"I want revenge too," Harry said, arms crossed on the table. "For my parents. For Hermione's parents."

"Are you sure?" Sturgis asked. "Revenge is motivated by hatred and hatred is an ugly thing. It consumes the soul just as surely as the Darkest magic. It's almost a Dark Art in itself."

"I'm sure." He didn't need to be lectured on hatred.

"Sirius says you often get angry and are easily provoked, if one knows which buttons to push."

Harry's head snapped up and he glared at Sturgis, a fraction of that same anger the Hit-wizard spoke of heating him up. "Are _you_ going to try that? Push my buttons? Because if you are, I'll push back."

Sturgis looked wholly unapologetic. "I wasn't going to, so don't behave like a spoiled child, because you're not one. You're better than that."

"I didn't ask you to evaluate my the extent of my motivation."

Sturgis moved so quickly that it seemed like he'd apparated. Harry flinched back when the Hit-wizard draped himself over the table, their eyes now on the same level. "I think that _you believe_ you're motivated enough to take a life, but that's not the hardest part." Harry didn't turn away from Sturgis' stare and didn't break the eye contact, even though his eyes started watering. "The hard part comes after. Murder is a terrible thing to do," Sturgis continued, voice low, hypnotic. "Remorse will destroy a man just as surely as the Killing Curse. To take a life is an evil thing, truly... Once you make that choice and do the deed, you can never again claim to be a good man. Righteous, perhaps, if your cause is justified, but never good. The world is too awash with suffering for people like me to usurp the place of those who don't kill."

Harry made an effort to not answer immediately. He'd had enough time to think it through. He had already said it out loud. His intent was laid bare. There was no other direction now but forward. "I accept that."

"I'm not so sure you understand it," Sturgis replied, "and you can't accept something you don't understand. Do you understand _that_ at least?"

He had expected to be questioned. He knew he wanted to do this, that he _could_ do it, but he had to convince the man in front of him. "I think you're presuming a lot of things about me, Sturgis, and I'm sure some of them are wrong. I'm asking for your help. If you won't give it, I only ask that you keep this between us."

"And herein lies the crux of the matter." Sturgis backed away, into a more comfortable position. Elbows on the table, he interlocked his fingers together, still watching Harry intensely. "This is no small thing you're asking. Not tips on choosing the right curse – Sirius is teaching you that. You want my help in executing a cold-blooded murder."

Looking away, Harry racked his brain for a cutting remark, but he found none and frankly, Sturgis was right.

"Sirius' trial."

Harry looked up.

"It wasn't a question," Sturgis clarified, his fingers drumming on the table. "This is when you want to do it. Pettigrew – because it is Pettigrew – will be out of your reach until then. You'll wait until the trial is done and Sirius is cleared. Azkaban is being reinforced, so Pettigrew will probably be sent there. You want to snatch him in transit."

"And leave a Dark Mark," Harry added. "Only a Death Eater can use that spell. I'll force Peter to conjure it."

"And then you will kill him," Sturgis finished. "This is what you need my help for. I doubt even Sirius would consent to letting you do it."

"Yes."

The Hit-wizard cracked a dangerous grin. "What makes you think I won't tell him all about this meeting?"

Harry swallowed. "I would prefer it if you didn't."

The grin slid off Sturgis' face, replaced by a devil-may-care look in his eyes. "I'm not your keeper, Harry. If Sirius wants to be one, he can bloody well do the parenting himself. Now…" He stood up and picked up his glass. It was still mostly full. He downed the rest in one giant gulp. "I need a break. I always get hungry when the conversation turns so grim. Come on, partner, I'll introduce you to the Queen of Hearts."

Harry stood up to follow him, but walked into Sturgis' finger poking him in the chest.

"Don't stare. She's pretty and she knows it, but she hates it when men stare. Don't give her a reason to think you're some kind of simpleton."

The Queen of Hearts turned out to be a young woman, probably around Tonks' age, but still a good few years older than Harry. He made a valiant effort to keep his eyes above her neckline, a task that was only made harder by her clothes. If Hermione were here, she would be scandalised. Not that she lacked… femininity, but she never _flaunted_ it.

Mallory – that was the Queen's name – invited them to a private room behind the bar. It looked like a place he could imagine Lucius Malfoy in, not someone who ran a bar under the London docks. It was decked out in dark wood and furnished with huge armchairs upholstered in purple leather.

"I've always wondered about the famous Harry Potter," she said, collapsing into one of the armchairs. Sturgis followed her example. Harry sat on the edge of another, debating if he shouldn't become invisible. Hiding under the Cloak seemed like a very good option right now.

"You're cute," Mallory continued flirtatiously. "Too bad you're still in school."

"And he's taken, I'm afraid," Sturgis added in a theatrical whisper.

"Oh," Mallory pouted. "You're breaking my heart, and that's my job."

Harry flashed an apologetic smile and looked away again, admiring the eclectic collection of items lining the shelves. There were trinkets of various shapes and sizes, figurines made out of everything from wood to obsidian, luxurious wristwatches, jewellry and a particularly eye-catching set of snowglobes.

"Portkeys," Mallory said. "The snowglobes. It's another service I provide. Illegal, of course, but a girl has to make a living somehow." She shifted sideways in her chair, leaving her legs dangling from an armrest. Harry scolded himself for stealing a glance when her skirt rode up her thighs.

Mallory gave Sturgis a reproachful look. "You didn't say he was so bashful."

"I just told him not to stare," Sturgis said, shrugging.

"Oh, Harry, sweetie," she cooed. "You can stare all you want." Harry looked towards her and she winked at him, but not in the way Tonks would – a friendly, playful wink. Mallory's was playful enough, but promising another kind of _fun._

"Take pity on the poor boy," Sturgis chastised, nudging her foot with his own. "He doesn't know you're joking."

Thankfully, she assumed a less revealing sitting position. "Oh, fine. But you know, Harry – drop by anytime."

There was a rapt knock on the door and it opened, just enough for a square-jawed man to stick his head inside.

"Sammy, I have guests," Mallory said, shooting the man a glare. "What is it?"

"I know, Mal, sorry, sorry," Sammy replied quickly, "but there's summun 'ere to see yeh, some girl, and she-"

"What girl?" Mallory interrupted. "I have no appointments scheduled for tonight. Tell her she can seduce her boyfriend or girlfriend or _whoever_ tomorrow."

Sammy scratched his chin. It was covered by a short stubble that to Harry looked like it should be extremely itchy. "I dunno, Mal. She said she needs a portkey, to get outta country. France or somethin'."

Mallory rolled her eyes, exasperated, and jumped up from her seat. "Give me a minute, boys."

When the door closed behind her, Harry shot Sturgis a glare. "Don't stare? Very funny, Sturgis."

The Hit-wizard snorted with laughter. "Yes, it is. It's very funny, watching you go red like that. Were you even breathing?"

The door opened again. Sammy stood on the threshold, and Harry could now see that his entire body seemed to consist of angles, from his cuboid head to brick-like feet. "Mal wants yeh ou' there," he said, pointing over his shoulder. "Some friend o' yours showed up."

They hurried back to the Keeper's main area, Sturgis first, hand sneaking to the wand-holster at his belt. They came out into a secluded niche, hidden from the view of other patrons by a heavy curtain. Sammy went on through to tend the bar, Harry assumed. Even with just five people, the side-room was crowded.

"Harry?"

"Remus?"

"You?"

"Sally?"

"Sturgis, what the fuck is going on?"

Harry took in the situation while the adults descended into an argument, talking over each other heatedly. Then Remus pushed Sturgis up against a wall, Mallory tried to pry his hand off without success, and Sturgis merely glared at Remus cross-eyed. Harry grabbed Sally's hand a pulled her into the opposite corner.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same thing, but that's not important. I _really_ don't have time for this mess," she said, her voice on the verge of breaking. Her face was dirty, except where tears her streaked down. She was wearing only pants, boots and a shirt with rolled up sleeves. Her forearms and neck were bruised and covered in scratches, her clothes were torn. The hand holding a wand trembled, but she closed it tighter around the shaft.

"I have to get out of here."

"What happened?" Harry insisted. "We'll help you, get you to a safe place."

"I've been running for days," Sally spat. "There is no safe place for me in Britain. I have to get to the continent and-"

"And what? Who's after you?"

"East, I need to go east. Grey's influence only goes so far."

 _Greyback is hunting her?_

"How did Greyback find out?" he demanded. "We obliviated you."

She glared at him, writhing out of his hold. "Yes I know. You fucked me over, _Harry."_

"Harry, let me through."

Remus didn't wait for an answer and simply pushed him aside. He grabbed Sally by the shoulders and leaned down, speaking softly. "I know Greyback. I know his methods. I can protect you. You just need to come with me."

"You don't get it!" she shrieked. "I have to go _now,_ they'll be here any moment!"

As if conjured by her words, the noise coming from the public area changed. An explosion rocked all of them on their feet and the cheering and laughs were instantly replaced by screaming and the clutter of chairs and tables being knocked over, of people rushing to get away from something.

Harry went for his wand and made for the curtain, but Remus put a hand against his chest. "No. We'll deal with this." Sturgis had already rushed outside. "You, Mallory – is there another way out?"

The Queen of Hearts had paled, but seemed entirely in control. "A concealed tunnel, it leads up to the docks. I'll get them out of here. Come on, you two."

"Oh God, oh God…" Sally was whispering. Her eyes had grown comically large, but they were filled with fear and exhaustion. "I have to get out…"

Remus had already gone. Harry almost followed Mallory, but just then there was a bang of another explosion and the noise died down. A magically amplified voice spoke.

"I'm looking for a girl named Sally-Anne Perks. Give her to me and I will leave peacefully."

Harry knew that voice. He bolted through the curtain, ripping his wand from the holster.

Where there used to be the entrance to the Dungeon Keeper was now a gaping hole. In the opening stood a group of dark-robes figures, their faces covered by the white, featureless masks of Death Eaters. Their leader stood several paces in front of the others, hands clasped behind his back. The solitary Death Eater found Harry almost immediately, the mask turning to him, head tilting as if in a gesture of curiosity. Despite the mask, Harry knew exactly who he was.

Malfoy.

~~oOo~~

For days now, she had been assisting Nott in his tasks, as her orders bid her to do. Assisting, bah. Nott left most of the work to her, drawing unspeakable pleasure from having someone to command. She did her part, unraveling the runic scripts and arithmantic formulas created by the Dark Lord to aid them. They weren't complete spells – they weren't meant to be. The intention was clearly a blueprint, a framework for a master key, but one that would only open all locks within a specific subset of doors.

She spent her nights working in silence while Nott hovered, sometimes peeking at her work, demanding to know what this or that was for. She kept her silence, or gave appropriately passive-aggressive answers. In short order, Nott realised he wasn't so much commanding her as she was doing the work for him, taking away his agency, claiming the credit, while he was left being even more useless than he had been on his own. It took him almost a week before he figured it out. He chose the worst possible time to confront her about it.

"I know what you're doing," he half-growled, half-whispered into her ear as they waited for the prefect patrol to pass.

She didn't answer this time either, pushing him away as soon as it was safe to move. Casting a Silencing Charm, she crossed the flooded hallway, water splashing soundlessly beneath her quick steps. Nott followed, hot on her heels.

"Stop playing this game with me," Nott warned as they ducked into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She set about sealing the doors – they must not be interrupted. Too close to success now to risk it.

"Take care of the ghost," she said in lieu of the response he was expecting and layered a Silencing Charm on the door. She had no orders to assuage Nott's insecurities.

He stalked away, glowering. He manifested his anger by kicking open the stalls in the search for Myrtle. She glared contempt into his back. Even Draco had more restraint these days.

"Hey, boys are not allowed-" Myrtle began, but her words were cut short by Nott's spell. It was merely one of the lesser exorcisms – not enough to dematerialise a ghost even shortly, but it would give them time to do what they had come here to do, and Myrtle would conveniently not remember two nightly visitors.

"I want a straight answer," Nott said through clenched teeth.

She met his gaze with her own. "Stand over there and begin at my mark," she instructed. It was sure to irk him. He hated being ordered around at all, but by her of all people? The ultimate insult. Draco he could take, because he could retaliate, but her, he was not allowed to touch. Well, not exactly – not unless he could get away with it, was her guess.

Nott prolonged the ensuing staring contest into a long, tense silence, eventually relenting. He wanted to play his power games, but not at the cost of success. He couldn't afford another failure, not when the possible outcome this time was punishment – and the Dark Lord was very creative with punishments.

She began chanting softly, reciting the words she'd practiced from a sheet held in her left hand, her right raising the wand high. Opposite her, Nott matched the runes to the incantations, one combination after another, in precise order. Twice she felt Dumbledore's enchantments twitch, but they remained in place, the disturbance absorbed and incorporated into their vibrations. A ward that adapted to attacks – in her opinion, a most marvelous advance in spellcrafting in recent years, but no one talked about it, because Dumbledore had kept it to himself. Only the Dark Lord was able to decipher what it was after Nott provided the schematics he'd composed from observing it. It gained Nott a little favour – not all his failures had been his fault. The Dark Lord promptly designed new formulas. They'd gone through most of them in the last three days. So far, nothing had worked.

She reached the end of the chant without having breached the ward. The Dark Lord's magic had failed to penetrate Dumbledore's. In this battle, the Headmaster had won.

"Why didn't it work?" Nott demanded. "You screwed up!" he accused, eyebrows knitting together in anger.

"I did no such thing," she retorted. "The Dark Lord wanted us to test if Dumbledore's protections could be breached to establish a backdoor. They can't. We've done what was ordered."

At least he didn't question her further. Nott wasn't the best at applying magic practically, but he was a competent theorist and could draw the right conclusions if he put his mind to it – which, unfortunately, he rarely did, instead spending his free time on designing complex, multi-dimensional arithmantic schemes that he never took beyond the parchment.

They sneaked out and up through the castle, to their base of operations. The Dark Lord had pointed Nott to this place – it was one of Hogwarts' many secrets that allowed them to hide even from Dumbledore.

The door closed and the charms sealed them in an impenetrable cube-shaped space of wards, sealing in all magic, sound and anything else that might give them away. Nott pounced when her back was turned.

"You're just like Malfoy," he spat, closing the distance between them and invading her space. "You think you're better than me, because the Dark Lord acknowledged you in front of everyone."

As was her custom, she didn't answer, instead busying herself with tidying up the workspace. Nott had made an utter mess of it. There was more to be done and she couldn't work in this cesspool.

But then Nott was right behind her, whispering in her ear again, "You're nothing but a jumped up _whore."_

Before she could act, he twisted her wrist and her wand cluttered to the floor. She fought, but Nott had the upper hand – he was taller, heavier, stronger. She jerked her free arm backwards, hoping to elbow him in the gut, but he shrugged off the clumsily executed attack and pushed her against the wall, pinning her in her place with his weight. Her face was being crushed painfully against the stones. Nott gave into baser instincts. He rammed his hips against hers, his hot breath on her neck.

"You are _beneath me,"_ he said, a sharp edge to his voice.

She closed her eyes and swallowed heavily, trying not to writhe and struggle like she wanted to. Lull his senses… let him think he won, she instructed herself. She moved with him, holding her breath, pushing a whimper through her throat.

Nott had lost himself in the moment, his hands released hers to roam her body. "Stupid robes," he mumbled, reaching to her collar, tugging at the robe.

She struck then, snapping her head back. It hurt her too, but she felt something break with an unpleasant crunch – Nott's nose. He stumbled back, roaring in pain.

"You bitch!"

She didn't have much experience in hitting people, but it was easy enough to slam a fist into Nott's stomach when he was clutching his face as blood streaked down from the broken nose. It bought her enough time to snatch her wand from the floor. Nott wasn't fast enough to interrupt her spellcasting.

 _"Crucio,"_ she enunciated with vicious satisfaction. Noise wouldn't escape the room, but right then she wouldn't have cared if it did.

Nott screamed and thrashed. The ear-piercing agony sent shivers through her, not the pleasant kind. The Cruciatus Curse wasn't without a price it demanded from the caster – some pain of her own to rain a great deal more of it on the victim, but she bore it gladly. Nott was under her power and there he would remain from now on, or she would do worse. She told him as much when she released him from the spell after a trying minute. Nott lay on the floor, still convulsing, every muscle in his body drawn taut. What was the time?

She was running a bit late, but could make it if she left now. Her partner was in no condition to report on their progress. She deftly Transfigured two rolls of parchment into twin blades, long, thin and split on the end opposite the point. She banished them at Nott's hands, pushing with magic until the blades were wedged deeply between the floorstones. Nott screamed his throat bloody raw with every inch.

"There, there." She knelt and leaned down, patting his cheek gently. "You wait right here – I have to go meet Draco. We will finish this later."

From a chest of supplies she picked out an invisibility cloak. This one was a far cry from the unique artifact owned by Harry Potter, but it was still an invaluable tool. The demiguise hairs would hide her from most eyes. Like all such cloaks, it would degrade and wear out with frequent use, but this one was still relatively new.

Adding a few charms to enhance her stealth, she ghosted through the castle, reaching the Entrance Hall in good time. Soon, she was heading downhill, past Hagrid's hut and into the Forbidden Forest. The path to her destination wasn't marked in any artificial way – too risky – but she had learned to rely on natural landmarks. She reached the clearing a few minutes after the agreed upon hour, but nothing like Nott's deliberate lateness.

The person awaiting her wasn't Draco. Leaning against a tree, arms crossed, hood pulled down from windswept hair, was Mulciber.

"Evening," he said by way of greeting, a playful quirk on his lips. She had nothing to fear from him, not unless the Dark Lord grew unsatisfied with her, but she still approached at a sedate pace, like a panther lounging in tall grass.

"Has Nott become so lazy as to push this on you as well?" Mulciber asked, examining his fingernails.

"Draco's not coming?"

"He's otherwise engaged," Mulciber said without missing a beat. "Even if he weren't however, the Dark Lord decided I would be collecting reports from Hogwarts from now on. Also to keep Malfoy and Nott far apart. No need to escalate things between them."

What about things that could escalate between Draco and _me,_ she thought.

"The Chamber is out of the Dark Lord's reach. It will not be possible to use it to enter the castle quickly."

"Just as the Dark Lord suspected," Mulciber said, nodding. "But well done nonetheless. What about the cabinet?"

"I've only just began working on it. Nott wasn't able to take it very far." Squirming under Mulciber's gaze, she added, "It'll be ready on time."

Mulciber tilted his head. "When?"

"For whenever the Dark Lord requires," she insisted, her jaw set.

Mulciber waved it off. Everything about him – his posture, mannerisms, his face, his clothes – spoke of his casual approach to life and suggested the lethality hiding underneath. "And Potter?" he asked.

"I'm working on it."

"The Dark Lord very much wants to know what he's unearthed during his long hours in the library."

She drew her lips into a thin line. "I need time. He's not just going to tell me his secrets."

They looked at each other for a long time. As seconds passed, she relaxed a little, remembering Mulciber's lessons. Harsh he may be as a teacher, but an effective one.

"You've taken to it well," Mulciber said at last, breaking the long silence. He came closer and reached out, resting a single finger on her shoulder.

"It hasn't been easy," she said, looking up at him.

"You're not listening. I told you not to fight it."

"Yes, you did." Obedience she could give, but she didn't want to give more than she had to. "It's hard to go against every signal my mind and body keep sending. Isn't it like that for you?"

He laughed quietly. "There is a world of difference between us. I've carried it almost as long as you've been alive." He patted her shoulder in a gesture of encouragement. "You're doing just fine."

"How does it change over time?" she asked. "I wish it afforded more independence. It's not always going to be like this, is it? What did you do? How?"

"Forward is the only way," said Mulciber. "I couldn't tell you where I end and it begins. Don't fight it. It'll settle down if you let it. From there, things are much easier. It's not like this…" He pointed to her left forearm. "Whatever masks the others wear, we stand above them by grace of our circumstance. We are unique. The Dark Lord made it so."

And he left, though not before offering a polite 'goodnight'. He apparated away with a twirl of his dark-blue coat.

She stared at the spot where he'd been, frowning. "Don't fight it," she muttered. It went against every fibre of her being. A primal duel was being fought in her head and Mulciber advised her to lose it.

"Don't fight it. _Right._ Very helpful."

With an irritated sniff, she began the long walk back to the castle. Nott was waiting.

~~oOo~~

"You," said Malfoy, pointing to one of his underlings. "Take three with you and search where they came from. Find the girl."

Harry itched to do something, but even though the tension was palpable, the strange stand-off endured. The crowd of people huddled together at the other end of the Keeper. He, Remus and Sturgis stood in the middle, between the crowd and the Death Eaters.

"I told you to leave," said Remus.

"Looks like you can use all the help you can get," Harry replied, trying to watch all the Death Eaters simultaneously.

"Well, I can see only one outcome for this clusterfuck," Sturgis muttered. "Anyone back there got the balls to come up here?" he called out to the crowd.

One, two, three, then a few more stepped forward, gripping their wands. Most of them were older men, visibly intoxicated. Harry wondered if any of them would be of any use in their state.

"We're with you," one of them declared. He looked to be the oldest of the volunteers, with a rich mane of grey hair sticking out from under his hat. "Elphias Doge, Mr. Potter. I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances."

Malfoy clapped his hands. "Wonderful. I was afraid this would be terribly one-sided."

He returned Malfoy's look, glaring into the mask's eye slots. "Are you just going to stand around?"

Malfoy laughed and flicked his wrist. A wand slid out of his sleeve into his palm and the Dungeon Keeper became a battlefield.

In an instant, the Death Eaters opened their assault with a barrage of unsubtle, destructive spells. The air in front of the crowd shimmered with energy as shields were conjured. Harry threw himself sideways, aiming a cutting curse into the nearest group of Death Eaters. Within seconds, the initial chaos had become an exchange of more precise spellfire, intended to take out particular opponents. Fortunately, it seemed that while the Death Eaters had the advantage of numbers, they lacked in individual skill. Between Remus, Sturgis and the older gentleman Doge, the three wizards managed to bear the brunt of the attacks, aided by an occasional helpful spell from the other volunteers.

Harry braved their line of defence, stepping out in front, unleashing a string of fast, heavy-hitting curses. He broke through a shield here and there, but the Death Eaters stayed in small clusters and protected each other. Harry was quickly forced on the defensive and had to fall back.

It was pandemonium. Spells flew everywhere and with each beat of Harry's heart, the enemy was gaining ground. Malfoy spearheaded the assault, exchanging curses with Doge, but realised he was outmatched by the older wizard's experience and allowed his allies to catch up to him, melting into the ranks. Harry never lost sight of him. Shielding himself, he bolted across the main battlefield, closing in on his intended target, unwary of curses overhead even as one singed his hair.

"Malfoy!"

"Potter!" Malfoy shouted back, though both their voices drowned in the cacophony of noise filling the Dungeon Keeper.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and he was violently pulled back, his feet swept out from under him. Remus pushed him roughly. "No! Stay behind the line!"

 _I'lll never get to Malfoy this way._

It was time to amend his approach. He knew just the spell for it. This time, it wouldn't get the better of him.

 _"IGNIS MALEDICTUS!"_

Remus was hurled out of the way by the sheer force of the heatblast that preceded the Fiendfyre. Harry aimed the torrent of the Cursed Flame into the heart of the Death Eaters formation. Shields buckled under the strain and they scattered, fleeing from the infernal heat and the prospect of burning alive.

Harry grinned madly as the fires submitted to his will. Things had changed since the summer. He shaped the Fiendfyre into a thousand whirling spirals, whipping the Death Eaters' defences. His control faltered for a terrifying instant when a dozen or so curses streaked towards him, but a brilliant shield snapped into place in front of him.

"I've got you," Sturgis growled, gasping for breath. "Keep it up!"

The Fiendfyre had changed the tide of battle and the scales were being tipped in their favour.

And then the world exploded.

A blast more powerful than the previous ones shook the cavernous space, knocking many off their feet. Feeling his control slipping, Harry dispelled the Fiendfyre before it got out of control.

Above them, huge chunks of concrete and rock fell down, some shattering on impact, others blasted into smithereens by spells, but all distracting them from the enemy. The thunderous noise was punctuated by several muted screams as pieces found targets. Harry hoped for merely serious injuries, but judging by how abruptly some of the yelling stopped, he feared the worst.

The dust cleared, revealing the Death Eaters worse for wear, but all of them still standing. More, the four sent after Sally and Mallory had come back. Mallory must have slipped away, but Sally now had a wand at her throat.

Malfoy, his mask broken and chipped, stood triumphant, holding aloft a vial of a white liquid. "I hate to cut it short," he said, "but I have a delivery to complete."

"You're just going to run?" Harry taunted. He couldn't let Malfoy leave, not when he was so close…

"Bigger fish to fry, Potter," Malfoy drawled. "All of you, don't do anything stupid, or I might be _provoked…"_ He shook the vial in his hand. "Into using this."

The Death Eaters left through the blown-out entrance one by one, the group holding Sally going first. The rest had their wands trained on possible targets.

"Remus," Harry barked.

"No," the werewolf said sternly. "Too many people. Too risky. Let them go."

"We can't let them take her!"

"We have no choice."

"Listen to your friend, Potter," said Malfoy. "And drop the sour face. I'm sure we'll see each other again."

Harry watched with gritted teeth as Death Eaters left unopposed. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, burning, demanding action. He was gripping his wand so hard his knuckles had gone white. Malfoy was watching him like a hawk.

In short order, Malfoy and three others were the only ones left. Harry made a split-second decision. He might not get a better chance than this.

He moved, raising his wand to cast, but Malfoy had the advantage of having his wand already in position. The vial shot forward, propelled by a Banishing Charm. Harry had only managed to get off his last spell when the vial imploded not three feet from him and everything was consumed by fire and light.

~~oOo~~

Draco ripped his battered mask off as soon as he landed safely inside the wards of Mulciber Manor and released a primal yell, his voice carrying over the lake. The three that left last with him followed his apparition and he urged them outside. Alone, he paced quickly in the boathouse, his steps falling heavy on the floor, allowing himself a moment of elation. This feeling of accomplishment, success, had been scarce ever since his amateur mistake at Hogwarts. But now, he had recouped the loss, atoned for his transgression, he had made up for his failure. And he had bested Potter while he did it.

The Fiendfyre had been a surprise, but fortunately, he had come prepared. The satisfaction was still greater knowing that he owned this success. Snape may have taught him, but he didn't create the potion that fueled his bombs. Mulciber had trained him, but Draco had led the others on his own. All of them were older than him, and yet they followed him into battle. There had been dissent initially, but he cowed them into obedience easily enough. Several well-placed curses persuaded insubordination out of Greyback's werewolves (somehow, Greyback always found more of them) and the others fell in as well, mostly distant relatives of several pureblood families, cousins everybody had forgotten about. Going into the Dark Lord's service was their chance to change their lot in life. Not that long ago, Draco had been their equal in status – a failure – but no more. Nott had been the first to find out. He wouldn't be the last.

Father wouldn't look at him with disdain anymore. Draco bared his teeth in a hungry grimace. It was time for him to surpass Lucius Malfoy.

He waited to calm down before he joined the others outside – it wouldn't do to go out there grinning like a maniac, not when his newly forged authority was still on uneven ground.

They were waiting for him, standing in a semicircle in front of the boathouse. Some had kept their masks on. It was their prerogative to keep their identity a secret from others. The Dark Lord allowed it, for the most part.

"Where is she?" Draco asked sharply.

The group parted. One of the werewolves pushed the girl forward. She stumbled and fell to her knees in front of him, a truly pathetic sight.

"Get her up. We're going to the Dark Lord."

"We have not been summoned," someone protested. The rest of the group was plunged into a tomb-like silence.

"You're welcome to stay here," Draco spat at the man a head taller than him – one of the werewolves. The challenger backed down, suffering the stares of others ridiculing him.

Draco led the group in a procession up to the Manor, two of his 'lieutenants' following right behind, hauling the girl between them.

"You didn't get the Keeper's owner? That Mallory woman?" Draco questioned.

"She ran after we caught up to them."

"Smart," Draco commented. "Values her own life more than another's."

They were stopped in the hall by the man of the house himself. Mulciber stood in the middle of the staircase, arms crossed.

"Congratulations," he said. For once, Draco had the impression he actually _meant_ it.

"Word travels fast," he replied. "It hasn't been a half hour yet."

"Word can't help but travel fast when you wreck the Dungeon Keeper," Mulciber said with appreciation. "I didn't think you had it in you. Maybe I was wrong about you."

 _You don't know how wrong, Butcher._

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Mulciber smiled, maintaining his air of superiority. "By all means, you deserve it. I give credit where credit is due." Mulciber moved to stand sideways, extending an arm in a gesture of invitation. "And so does the Dark Lord."

Draco tried his damnedest not to let the surge of pride in him show outwardly. He joined Mulciber on the steps.

"Take her to the dungeons and post guards," Mulciber ordered. "Two outside the cell, two more by the dungeon entrance. The rest can leave."

Draco followed Mulciber upstairs, casting a few quick charms to make himself presentable.

"Take a deep breath," Mulciber advised. "It's a one of a kind moment."

The dining room doors swung open. The Inner Circle, plus a few others, sat around the table. The Dark Lord was, as always, in the premiere spot. Two seats directly next to him were empty. Draco knew that the place on the Dark Lord's left hand belonged to Mulciber, but the other one was usually occupied…

...by Father.

Lucius Malfoy sat a ways down the table, watching Draco with an expression void of any emotion. Draco couldn't begin to guess what Father was thinking at the moment. Was he proud? Surprised?

The Dark Lord indicated the seat to his right. "Join us, Draco."

Or perhaps resentful that his son had usurped his place?

Mulciber nudged him forward. Keeping his eyes trained on a point somewhere above the Dark Lord's head, Draco made the walk to the empty chair waiting for him, while the gathering scrutinised him with every step. Aunt Bellatrix nodded in greeting – she looked surprisingly sincere, as if her madness had momentarily given way to clarity. He sat, managing to maintain his dignity, and looked to the Dark Lord to offer a greeting.

"My lord," he said, bowing his head.

The Dark Lord gave a cool smile. "You have done your father proud today."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Such success demands a just reward."

The Dark Lord's wand tapped the tabletop and where it had touched, a floating blob of silver materialised, coalescing into a mask. Another tap, and an ornament of symbols was burned into the mask's forehead. "Welcome, Draco Malfoy, among the Inner Circle."

Draco's hand trembled when he accepted the mask. He flipped it over like he would when about to put it on.

He looked up and into the Dark Lord's red eyes, welcoming the burn of the Legilimency probe. "I will not fail you," he swore with conviction.

"No," the Dark Lord said, reaching for his goblet of wine. "You won't."


	21. CHAPTER SEVEN: Sundering, Part 1

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Sundering**

 **Part 1**

There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

The wailing came chiefly from Mrs. Weasley, whom Harry had asked repeatedly not be let into his room. Each time he repeated his request, however, it came through less decisive – perhaps he owed her the right to fuss over him for a bit, for all the kindness she'd shown him.

He braved her short-lived hysteria, grateful to Sturgis for staying put and taking the brunt of her lecturing. The look the Hit-wizard gave him relayed the message clearly enough: you owe me for this, Harry. He didn't complain. Sturgis was a practical man and Harry could work with that. He still needed his help. By the time Sirius came in, Mrs. Weasley had calmed down and let herself be escorted out by Healer Grayson.

"What did I tell you about responsibility?" Sirius asked sternly as he came in. He didn't come across nearly as firm as he probably wanted. Harry detected an underlying current of worry in his voice.

"To exercise more of it," Harry replied, sitting up in bed. "I don't see what the problem is. That wasn't me shunning responsibility. I was shunning _inaction._ You would have done the same thing."

"Yes, yes, you're bloody right!" Sirius barked, half-angry, half-exasperated. "Throw me a bone, would you? This parenting business would be hard enough with a normal teenager, but I have _you_ on my hands."

"Is it worth it, Sirius?" Harry asked. "Pretending to be a parent? You suck at it, anyway."

Sirius gave him a flat stare over his shoulder. "I can't very well just let you do whatever you want. Even I didn't start fighting Death Eaters until I finished school."

"I would gladly measure myself against a Hogwarts graduate Sirius Black," Harry retorted.

Sirius rested his forehead against the wall. "It's not just about how good you are with a wand, Harry. But you're right – I've tried to explain it to you, but I can't." He turned to look at Harry again. "Maybe I should let Dumbledore take full charge of you. Maybe you'll listen to him if you won't listen to me."

Harry's stomach twisted at the threat. The last time he'd been put in Dumbledore's charge, their disagreement ended in attempted murder.

"You think that would stop me?" he said, infusing his tone with mocking. Most of all, he tried his best to appear as if nothing could matter less, when in fact, it was the opposite. It was true that Sirius had been lenient in his oversight. Harry enjoyed his freedom to request to leave Hogwarts whenever he wanted. He liked not being bound in one place, being able to influence what happened outside the walls of Hogwarts.

Sirius pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat down, grabbing Harry's shoulders. "I know I can't keep you out of the fight forever, but I don't want you to die because you did something stupid. And attacking Malfoy when he was holding a _bomb_ was exceedingly moronic. It was so stupid that I don't think Snape could find the right words to describe it."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You call it stupid… But here we disagree. For all I knew, Malfoy would have set off that last bomb anyway."

Sirius shot up from his chair, throwing his hands up in impotent anger. "At least you wouldn't have been caught in the blast!"

That gave Harry pause. Yes, he did remember the vial detonating within mere feet of him, but he'd been through worse. Wizarding medicine could work miracles. What had Sirius so worked up? "What are you talking about? I feel fine."

He stood up easily enough, walked over to the wardrobe and pulled open the door to look into the full-length mirror nailed to it. He stood in front of it, expecting some horrible injuries, but there was nothing. Even his hair looked normal – well, normal for him.

"Everything seems alright," he said, turning to Sirius.

Sirius drew a hand down his face. "Not all is gold that shines, Harry. Grayson spent hours patching you up. We even called in _Snape,_ because he was the most readily available potioneer who could brew the potions to account for your injuries. You looked three-thirds to dead when they brought you in."

"How long was I out?" Harry asked, a feeling of dread building in him. Something told him he hadn't heard the worst yet.

"Almost a week. Long enough for the Prophet to confirm and deny twice over that the battle at the Dungeon Keeper happened. You may be lucky you slept through the storm. It was a bloody mess. Literally bloody."

Harry swallowed. "How bad?"

"People died. Bad enough."

Sirius gave an account of the recent happenings. The one – only – good thing to result from this calamity was that Fudge was now much more receptive to hearing them out, Dumbledore in particular. The public was calling for his head.

"We've launched the next part of the plan," Sirius explained. "We've convinced everyone that everything that's happened since Voldemort's return was a massive sting operation to flush him out of hiding, only the 'plan' backfired and Voldemort reacted more aggressively than we had anticipated. We being a coalition between Dumbledore, Fudge and our friends at the Ministry."

"Crouch, Plateau, Croaker and Scrimgeour," Harry said.

"Yes. So, we bought a little time. Announcing my upcoming trial in the middle of that shitstorm wasn't a pretty thing to behold, let me tell you…"

"But it's happening, right?" Harry asked. Too much work and planning had gone into arranging this for the whole thing to come apart because of Draco bloody Malfoy.

"Yes, we're still on schedule," Sirius said, sounding tired. "But that's it for good news. Your stunt didn't do you any favours."

With that, Sirius produced a vial of a crystal-blue potion and handed it to him. "One such dose daily. You will need it. Right now it's what's keeping you conscious."

"I'm going to need more detail than that," Harry said, downing the potion. It was thankfully tasteless. As far as potions went, he preferred that to other magical medicine.

"One of the bomb's components was some acidic mixture. Even Snape couldn't identify it, but he's confident Malfoy could've come up with it on his own. Your old classmate has been a busy bee."

Harry made a face at Sirius. It was hard to accept that Malfoy had succeeded at anything, but he couldn't dispute that he had achieved what he'd came to the Dungeon Keeper for.

"Do we know why he was after Sally?"

"The girl?" Sirius asked. "Remus says it must have something to do with that time he took you to the werewolf fighting ring and you got your arse kicked and told no one that it happened except Sturgis, who apparently forced Remus to tell him using his shady tactic of the _deal."_ Sirius said all that in one breath, growing visibly annoyed with each word. "What the bloody fuck, Harry?"

Harry quashed the seed of remorse that had tried to bloom under Sirius' scrutiny. "Everyone keeps secrets."

Sirius collapsed onto the chair again. "I should have added a caveat: don't keep secrets from me."

"Too late for that," Harry replied, raising the empty vial. "What about this?"

"That bomb did a number on you. Grayson dealt with superficial scarring, but some injuries run deeper. It's the kind of wound you can't see, but will kill you if you're not careful. Without this potion you'd be in so much pain you'd pass out. Miss a dose and you may just lose your mind."

Harry blinked, unsure whether Sirius was exaggerating and hoping to Merlin that he was. "How much of that is a joke?" he asked flatly.

Sirius stood and squeezed his shoulder. "None of it. I'm sorry." He went to the door. "Get in the shower, get dressed and come down. You've been in bed long enough."

The gnashing of teeth came from himself.

Walking around posed no great difficulty, but the moment he had to bend over in the bathroom to get out of his sweat-soaked pajamas, the injury let itself be known. He didn't know how much of it was real, tangible pain and how much was his own mind tricking him into expecting pain that may not have been there at all. Expelling the building tension through grunts and grimaces, he nonetheless washed and dressed himself and carefully made his way down – the stairs proved to be nearly as imposing a challenge. His knees screamed in protest with every step. Was that how old people's knees felt? Was the injury permanent? He hated the very thought of having to rely on Snape for _anything,_ much less necessary medicine. Even Remus only had to deal with Snape once a month to get his Wolfsbane Potion.

As he hobbled downstairs, the gravity of the situation gradually dawned on him in full. He _had_ acted rashly and stupidly and handed Malfoy a victory that shouldn't have been his, on top of everything else. He had _lost_ to Malfoy. _Malfoy,_ whom he should have been able to plaster on the wall. How had that little pissant gone from a small-league bully to leading Death Eaters into battle?

By the time he arrived on the ground floor, Harry was facing that disquieting realisation that Malfoy had achieved more than he had in those past few months, a notion that would have been a joke just last summer.

He needed to do more. Better, faster, harder.

Starting with Peter.

Whatever the outcome of the battle, whatever lesson he should be taking away from it, all of that had to wait. This was something he couldn't walk away from. Not after he'd taken the first step. Not after he'd played it out over and over in his head. Would Sturgis still agree to help him though? After what had happened, he couldn't expect support for his scheme from anyone else.

The living room was empty, so he moved to the next likely place. There was indeed a small gathering in the kitchen. Fortunately, Mrs. Weasley wasn't there. Around the table sat Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, Sturgis, Healer Grayson, Snape – Harry forced himself not to glower at the man this once – and the older wizard he remembered from the Dungeon Keeper, Elphias Doge. The stranger sat next to Dumbledore – probably another friend of his. Harry was sure he'd never met him before. Was Doge in the Order, or simply an outside ally, like McGonagall?

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore began, taking on an official tone – his way of conveying disapproval. "Good of you to join us. As much as I would prefer to leave you to rest, you are an instrumental part of Sirius' trial."

"Try to keep me away from it," Harry said, flashing a weak smile. His attempted humour found no reaction from anyone. With a held back grunt, he plopped onto an empty chair. This wasn't how he wanted to present himself to strangers like Doge. Then again, did it really matter? The man was old and handy with a wand, likely too smart to be manipulated by him.

"I'm glad to see you in relatively high spirits, despite your current predicament," said Dumbledore.

"Oh, I wouldn't go so far," Harry said frankly, "but things need doing, right?"

He tried his damndest to ignore Snape's presence, but his damndest in this case didn't go far.

"Why is he here for this?" he asked, pointing at Snape, thought he kept his eyes firmly on Dumbledore.

He risked a glance. Snape didn't even bother with a cutting retort, settling for a roll of the eyes. Maybe his venom had ran out.

Dumbledore's eyebrows twitched, enough to relay the message of reproach, but the Headmaster even skipped the customary correction. "I've asked him and Healer Grayson to remain behind to instruct you on your recovery. As you might imagine, Professor Snape's assistance will be necessary once you return to Hogwarts."

"Alright," Harry conceded. "But why is he here while we're about to discuss the trial? He doesn't need to know about that. And, no offence, Healer Grayson, but it doesn't seem like something we need you for either."

Grayson didn't respond.

The answer came in the form of a painful sting on his cheek. He stopped a yelp of pain, but slapped his hand over the spot where the Stinging Hex had hit. Across the table, Sirius pocketed his wand.

"Even my patience with you has its limits," he said, his tone warning.

Harry shut up after that. If _Sirius_ was on his case for antagonising Snape, he'd better not pull the string any harder, lest he snap it.

Dumbledore laid out the plan for the upcoming days. Harry was more than a little surprised to find out the trial would take place in two days. He took the news the he was to spend much of that time being prepared for his testimony with little protest. He knew what was at stake.

"The most important thing to keep in mind is that this will be the trial that should have taken place fourteen years ago," Dumbledore said. "Sirius will be walking into the courtroom with most people there presuming him guilty, even if the better informed might be anticipating what is coming. Fortunately, we can present strong evidence and back it up with convincing witnesses."

Sirius cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly in his seat. Harry fixed him with a quizzical stare. He'd never seen Sirius, of all people, embarrassed.

"It could help if your were to… hmm... play to the audience during your testimony," Sirius said after a moment of fidgeting. "I know you don't like dealing with your fame."

Harry nodded. "Of course, if it will help." He turned to Dumbledore. "Will it though, Professor? It's not your average Prophet reader we're talking about, but the Wizengamot."

Since Fudge was forced to admit at least the possibility of Voldemort's return after the attacks on Nurmengard and Azkaban, the press he and Dumbledore were getting had seen an almost complete turn towards the positive – though there were still those who clung to the now unpopular opinion that both of them were liars. For weeks now, there had been talk of reinstating Dumbledore as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. The presiding Chief Selwyn had been less than pleased.

If Fudge had agreed to cooperate in the week he'd been unconscious, Harry thought he could make a pretty good guess as to what the Prophet was printing now, given that it was all but owned by the Ministry. Likely himself and Dumbledore were being honoured with a procession of complimentary epithets, just like after his second year and the Chamber of Secrets fiasco and after he'd outflown the Horntail during the First Task.

"I think you underestimate the average reader of the Prophet, Harry," Dumbledore said with a benevolent smile.

"I don't," said Snape.

Harry's whipped his head around so fast he thought he might have given himself whiplash. Did Snape just _agree with him?_

"Don't look so amazed, Potter. It's likely the only opinion we share," Snape added, looking at him with mild disgust, as if Harry were something repulsive he'd only barely avoided stepping on.

"More than that,"Dumbledore continued, raising his voice just enough to draw attention back to himself, "I fear you may be overestimating members of the Wizengamot. Not all of them represent the best of our society, a state of affairs which I find lamentable. But above all, the Wizengamot seats people and not all of them are as openly hostile towards us as some others may be. Indeed, we are not without our own allies there, though they are fewer than we would like."

The discussion moved on smoothly from there. The reason for Elphias Doge's presence became clear soon enough.

"We would have met eventually anyway, Mr. Potter," the wizened wizard said, shaking Harry's hand. "A pity that our first encounter occurred under such regrettable circumstances."

"Elphias is a valuable ally to the Order. He wields considerable influence in some circles," Dumbledore said. "And he has agreed to be Sirius' witness for the defence."

"That is to say I will help you manipulate the Wizengamot as best I can," Doge added, smiling brightly. "I shall see you tomorrow, Mr. Potter. I have been selected to instruct you on some useful intricacies of wizarding court procedures."

Doge left, exchanging polite goodbyes with everyone save Snape and Remus, neither of whom seemed in the mood for empty gestures. Dumbledore moved on to Remus himself, who had been quietly observing the meeting from a remote corner.

"Remus. Anything you wish to add?"

A stretch of silence was followed by a terse, "No."

And he left without another word. Harry had never seen Remus like this. On his worst days, there was something cheerful in him, even if it could be hidden under a crust of cool distance. He looked to Sirius for an answer, but Sirius merely shook his head in resignation.

"Nothing we can do but give him time," he said, sadly looking at the door through which Remus had left.

The meeting seemed to come to a close and Sirius and Dumbledore soon left as well. Harry made to stand up, but was stopped by Snape's cutting, "Sit down, Potter."

"Despite your typical display of ungratefulness, no one here wishes you ill," Snape said, though his tone was strained into the barest semblance of civility. "Not even myself – I simply don't care."

"That's Severus, with his black humour," Grayson jumped in. "There's good news and there's bad news, Harry. Your injury, though insidious, seems to have left you little worse for wear. I don't anticipate anything you won't be able to do now that you could before. However, you will be reliant on the potion Severus had put together. Without it, the pain will overwhelm you, I'm afraid."

Harry did his best to listen and mentally file away the detailed advice Healer Grayson described. One dose of the potion each morning, after waking up, before breakfast.

"I will see you weekly to monitor your recovery," Grayson finished.

Harry came out with his next question right away. Better ask and be disappointed than not know. "Is it permanent?"

Grayson deflated and looked guilty. "I want to say no, but the bomb that injured you had been created with the use of Dark magic. I'm certain that with time, the pain will lessen, but I can't guarantee it will go away completely. You might have to bear some of it for the rest of your life."

Harry sank into his chair. His morning hygiene had put him through the wringer and he'd had the potion by then. Was he to remain a hobbling invalid forever?

 _Bloody fucking Merlin,_ he swore in his thoughts. _I really cocked it up this time._

"Don't despair, Potter," Snape cut in. "Both of us are too proud in our professions to leave you like this. You'll get better with time. Maybe you'll think on your habitual idiocy in the meantime."

"Always a pleasure to see you, Severus," said Grayson, rising from his seat. "I'll see you in a week, Harry."

Again, Harry made to leave and was stopped.

 _"We_ are not done, Potter."

He sat back down. Taking a calming breath, he asked his question in the most civil manner he could manage for Snape. "What?"

"You will need your potion daily," Snape began, "and I may not always be available to provide you with it. Thus, upon your return to school, you shall serve evening detentions with me, three nights a week. I will try my best to teach you to brew the potion and you will try your best to learn." Snape's tone brokered no dissent. Harry merely nodded in agreement. "Moreover, it has been decided that I will also take over your Occlumency training, seeing as Black has produced no results."

Harry listened and accepted the terms Snape laid out without protest. He wasn't even in the mood to argue and, if he were completely honest, what Snape was saying made sense. It made sense to be able to brew the potion himself and while Sirius had done his best, Harry felt no more adept at Occlumency than he had been when they had first started. He wanted to at least become passably proficient at it. It was a condition Dumbledore had put forth if he were to divulge the secret that had bothered Harry since the summer – what were horcruxes and what did they have to do with Voldemort?

"Potter, you're not listening."

Harry snapped back to the reality of the kitchen. "...Sorry. What was that?"

"Your absence from school had to be explained away somehow. If anyone asks, you will tell them to bugger off. If they are insistent, you _may,_ if there is no other feasible option, tell them that you were grievously injured while practising magic unattended and following your recovery you were assigned numerous detentions with me, because Professor McGonagall felt particularly vindictive that day."

Harry considered this briefly, coming up with one last question. "How long will the detentions last?"

Snape gave him a flat stare. "As long as necessary."

Harry was left alone in the dark kitchen, contemplating how twisted his life had become. Malfoy, Peter, Snape – something ugly reared its head everywhere he turned. If he was to make it through, he had to become better, become more – more than he was.

He glanced at the clock. It was a late morning if one were generous with interpretation, but he was hungry. Bracing himself against the pain crackling in his limbs, he set to making breakfast.

~~oOo~~

Percy wasn't the least bit surprised when he discovered a note hidden cleverly among the morning mail for the Minister. A rectangle of parchment had been folded onto a corner of an envelope and the edge concealed, until Percy touched it, whereupon the illusion was cancelled.

He read and destroyed the note between two sips of coffee. At this point it had become another of his routines.

 _Courtroom two, one hour,_ the note said. One of the small courtrooms, then. Numbers one through six were located on the same floor as the DMLE – they mainly saw use in quick affairs, when a fine had to be dispensed for jinxing muggle toilets to expel their contents upon flushing or other such nonsense.

He finished his coffee, brought Fudge up to speed on the latest round of protests calling for his head, and laid out the afternoon schedule – Dirk Cresswell at twelve-thirty, updating the Minister on the progress (or lack thereof) with the goblin negotiations.

Percy once again blessed his luck. He had given into the summer scare and emptied his personal vault shortly before the riot broke out in Diagon. It was awkward – not to mention unsafe – to store his gold in his flat, but until Gringotts could be appeased into resuming normal operations, he would take his chances. Since the riot, the bank had been keeping the Goblin Liaison Office on their toes, demanding that they negotiate, on behalf of the Ministry, a unique seven-day plan each week. It was madness, but after months of this, people had become accustomed. Which was, in Percy's opinion, even madder.

He wished the Order would hurry up and complete their coup already. Perhaps Dumbledore could get the gears moving on the Gringotts front more effectively than Cresswell.

Five minutes from the one hour mark, Percy left the Ministerial wing, leaving the flock of junior assistants with instructions to keep the Minister on time for his meetings and made his way to the DMLE floor, grabbing a sandwich on his way through the cafeteria. He'd missed breakfast to get in early today and who knew how long this would take.

He moved through the DMLE unobtrusively, making use of the nooks and crannies in the hallways to avoid coming into direct contact with anyone. He passed the Auror Offices walking beside a janitor's cart, stacked ceiling-high with precariously balanced boxes and mail, and slipped into courtroom two unnoticed, though he paused to wipe the mayonnaise from his fingers beforehand.

Inside were the usual suspects: the unbroken quartet of Crouch, Scrimgeour, Plateau and Croaker, accompanied by Professor Dumbledore and Sirius Black. Percy was immensely interested in how these two went in and out of the Ministry like that, Black especially, given his undesirable legal status. He'd ruled out several possibilities, like Polyjuice Potion and Notice-me-not Charms, though it was pure speculation on his part.

"Good morning," he said to the room. He had met with this bunch enough times that any awkwardness had vanished.

The men offered nods and muttered greetings in return. Percy stood off to the side, while the six of them talked in the middle of the room, gathered around the witness stand. He tuned into their discussion, the usual morning bleariness falling away, replaced by sharp alertness. He enjoyed being a part of this. He doubted history books would recognise his contribution, given its nature (which always stung a little whenever he thought about it), but he was glad to have a role to play, to be doing _something_ when so many others sat on their hands or had no idea at all what was happening. With the truth about You-Know-Who out, they were at war in all but name, and he fought on a battlefield that suited him. He would never be a skilled or fast enough wand to duel Death Eaters, but in the Minister's office, he could use the skills he excelled at.

Even as his thoughts meandered, he drank in every detail being exchanged among the conspirators. His instructions were never straightforward. Crouch would say to steer Fudge this or that way and it was Percy's job to figure out how, using every scrap of information he had, which was how he preferred it.

"And this is where Mr. Weasley comes in," said Crouch, and every pair of eyes came to rest on Percy. He blinked, taken by surprise. This was new.

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't think your efforts have gone unnoticed. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to coax your talents out last year, but perhaps it's for the best. You're grown more on your own than under my lacking tutelage."

Percy gave a nod. Crouch had an abrasive manner sometimes that was a peculiar trait in a diplomat, but Percy wasn't going to dismiss acknowledgement when it was given so openly.

Crouch patted Scrimgeour on the back in a decidedly condescending manner. "Rufus would be quick to discount you as a bureaucrat, but don't mind him. He sometimes forgets how essential bureaucrats are to running the country. And you, Mr. Weasley, have become a fine one indeed."

Percy tactfully restrained a comment, though Crouch was right. Most people would never realise the power that rested in the hands of a dedicated paper-pusher in the right place, what could be accomplished with a few strokes of a quill. Change the date, move this or that supplicant down the list, reshuffle a document to the top of the pile – every neck could be made to bend.

"Our operation requires rearranging some pieces on the board," Crouch continued, gazing at Percy intently. "Later today, Auror Captain Robards shall be dispatched to arrest a particularly troublesome one – Dolores Umbridge."

Percy listened with growing anticipation as Crouch went on to describe the plan. Umbridge to be scapegoated, brought up on charges of treason and her small but vocal faction in the Wizengamot to be splintered.

"That will leave the post of Senior Undersecretary vacant," said Crouch, a knowing smile on his face. "We believe you would be the perfect man for the job. Are you, Mr. Weasley?"

Of course he was.

"I believe I am, sir." These men were far too sharp to be fooled by false modesty. Between them they had more smarts than a small town.

"Excellent," said Crouch, clapping his hands once. "Now, there is another-"

"Whatever it is, it can wait," Scrimgeour cut in. The Director of DMLE walked across the room to lean on the table where a sentencing panel would sit. With his mane of grey-streaked hair and the severe lines of his face, he resembled an old lion. Percy saw a deliberateness in this movement – separating himself from the group.

There was about to be trouble in paradise.

"I was hoping you would see reason, but it seems subtle clues don't register with you," Scrimgeour said, rather pompously in Percy's opinion. The courtroom was presently occupied exclusively by highly intelligent people. As if any of them were unfamiliar with the concept of subtlety…

"No one would ever accuse you of _subtlety,_ Rufus," Croaker shot back, crossing his arms. Scrimgeour ignored the remark. In his defence, the Chief Unspeakable seemed unable to communicate without being condescending, sarcastic, or both.

"You intend to keep Cornelius as Minister," Scrimgeour said, his tone accusatory, face creased by a frown.

Crouch stepped up, matching Scrimgeour's expression. "Yes, Rufus, we do. I believe that was what we all agreed upon when we formed this alliance."

"Dismantling Lucius Malfoy's political apparatus is a sensible goal," Scrimgeour conceded, "but what good is it if we only take his place as the manipulators?"

"Because Malfoy knew what he was doing, you obtuse primate," Croaker cut in. "We're expressly _not_ trying to build a new ship, just change the captain. Be a realist, Rufus. The Ministry's too corrupt to be run cleanly. We should work towards changing that, but not while Voldemort is at large."

Percy tactically backed away, putting Dumbledore between himself and the arguing Directors. Not that he expected any of them to start throwing spells around, but the atmosphere was getting uncomfortably thick.

"You expect to effectively fight a war while every decision has to pass through the hands of a puppet Minister?"

"So _that's_ what this is about," Croaker said, his eyes narrowing. "I thought you were a better man than this."

Percy leaned in closer to Dumbledore. "What is happening?" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"I believe we are about to find out," Dumbledore replied, reminding Percy that the Headmaster did not, in fact, know everything.

"Algernon, is he implying-"

"Of course he is, Barty."

"What _is_ he implying?" Plateau asked, looking as lost as Percy felt.

"This is getting very confusing," Black mumbled. Percy agreed wholeheartedly.

"Putting himself above the greater good," Croaker snarled.

If he had to guess now, Percy thought he had a good idea what the issue was…

"I still don't understand," said Plateau, a note of complaint in his tone. Clearly, he didn't appreciate being treated like he was just tagging along while the others made all the decisions. "Algernon, let's not blow this out-"

Crouch took pity on Plateau. "He wants to be Minister." Turning to Scrimgeour, he continued, "You were never much of a team player, Rufus, but I thought you were on board for this war."

"Don't act like politicking in time of war is some kind of unholy, immoral deed," Scrimgeour answered evenly. "You were only too eager last time."

Crouch assumed an expression darker than a thunderstorm. "And look what that got me, Rufus. You should learn from my mistakes."

"Oh, please. He can't see past the tip of his nose," Croaker said.

Percy watched as the three Directors, some of the longest-serving, most influential people in the Ministry, rapidly descended into an exchange of base insults and proverbial mud-slinging as old grudges were brought to light. Plateau was left standing alone, looking confused and exasperated. Black seemed content to wait and let the fires burn out.

Dumbledore didn't.

"Gentlemen!" The Headmaster's voice filled the courtroom, carrying an unquantifiable, commanding quality that had even old hands like the quarrelling Directors falling silent. Percy observed the whole affair with unrestrained fascination. This was the best entertainment he'd had in months.

"This is beneath us all," said Dumbledore, his tone still firm, but less absolute. "Rufus, I must express my surprise. You know what is at stake. It is imperative that we stand united. Inviting personal ambitions into the political environment was among the factors that facilitated Voldemort's triumph in the last war."

Scrimgeour straightened, closed his eyes for a moment and released a breath through his nose. "I know that, Dumbledore. I am trying to strengthen us. We can't be at our best if Fudge has to be led by the hand through every decision. The Minister's post must sit someone able to think for themselves, but working with this alliance. That is why I'm proposing this move."

"And putting forward your own name isn't at all personally motivated, is it?" Croaker demanded.

Scrimgeour glared at the Chief Unspeakable. "It must be one of the people in this room. Everyone knows you love your dungeons too much to ever leave them and Barty is simply not feasible, not after the mess with the Triwizard Tournament."

"He's right there, I'll give him that," Crouch said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"And Marcus – no offence, friend, but outside counting money you'd be no better than Fudge. Out of us here you're perhaps the only one who's not a politician."

"None taken."

"I take offence to that," Sirius muttered, frowning. "Me, a politician? Bah."

"Rufus… Your words are not without merit, but ousting Fudge would require a vote of no confidence in the Wizengamot, express elections… There simply isn't time," said Dumbledore.

"Not if Fudge is indicted."

A heavy silence fell in courtroom number two once again. Croaker was the one to break it.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Rufus…"

"That requires its own process. We are busy enough as it is…"

Scrimgeour wasn't backing down. "Why are you silent, Mr. Black? I had to expend a lot of political capital to get you your trial."

But Sirius wasn't easily played. "A trial you owed me anyway, Scrimgeour. Don't drag me into your spat. I wash my hands of this."

"I was counting on your support once you're free," Scrimgeour tried again.

Sirius jerked his head towards Plateau. "Just goes to show he's much better at counting than you are."

"I see." Scrimgeour's tone had a finality to it that suggested he considered the discussion to be over. "In that case, I'm left with no other choice."

He made for the door.

"Rufus!" Crouch called. "Be reasonable. We can only stand against Voldemort together."

Scrimgeour didn't even slow down. "I'm not abandoning the fight, Barty, but I will fight him as I see fit."

Having stood mostly still for a good while, Percy flinched when the door slammed behind Scrimgeour.

"If he's determined to replace Fudge, could he accomplish it on his own?" asked Dumbledore.

Crouch sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yes. We've shared all the dirt we collected on Cornelius between us. Each of us has enough to call up a storm."

"And we'll look like fools trying to defend that worm if Rufus goes through with it," Croaker added. "We'll need a candidate of our own."

"Algernon, would you step up?"

"Don't dream of it. I'm comfortable where I am."

The three remaining Directors and Dumbledore huddled together in a small circle, talking in hushed voices.

"That's why I never went into politics, even when my father wanted me to take over for him," said Sirius.

"Perhaps the air will clear once you're exonerated, Mr. Black," Percy said.

"I told you to call me Sirius."

"It'll take some getting used to. How's everyone else doing? I haven't heard from Ron in a while."

"Harry's at the headquarters until the trial. Come over tomorrow."

"Er, we're not really close friends."

"You should rectify that. Harry's a great friend to have," said Sirius. Then, looking up at the ceiling, he added, "Even if he sometimes gets himself blown up like an idiot."

Just then, all four heads of the other conspirators turned in unison to look at Percy. Crouch in particular was staring with stark intensity. Percy's mind raced. _What, why are they looking at me like that? Wait… No, they couldn't possibly…_

"Don't look so spooked, Mr. Weasley," said Crouch. "I have no doubt you could be Minister some day, but it won't be for many years."

Then why were they _staring?_

"We will need you to talk to your father."

 _Oh, blast it._

~~oOo~~

If Ginny had known what kind of day she was about to have, she would have stayed in bed.

She went down to the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione. Their association with Harry had made them pariahs in Gryffindor, even now that the fact of Voldemort's return had been acknowledged by the Ministry. Where there had been suspicion and fear now was shame – once again, Harry Potter had left everyone feeling the fools. Ginny had no patience for them. Harry's prolonged absence – another 'accident' while practicing questionable magic – had done little to endear him to most of the student body.

They day, however, started well enough. Just as Ginny settled in for breakfast, a unit of Aurors walked into the Great Hall and made their way to the High Table. Ginny thought their deliberate fast-walk and gazes trained on whoever was their target made it all look rather dramatic – not that she didn't enjoy dramatics.

There were three Aurors. Anton Robards led the team and flanking him were two more Aurors Ginny recognised: Aurors Ribs and Shins. Ribs was somehow able to remain as rigid as a stick even as he walked, while his partner looked to have recovered from Ron's attack. Once Robards stopped, Shins cast a wary look at the students over each shoulder, but fortunately his gaze slid over Ron without stopping.

Dumbledore wasn't present, so McGonagall stood up to demand an explanation. "Auror Captain Robards." Her lips sealed into a thin line. "What brings you to Hogwarts again so soon?"

"Deputy Headmistress." Robards inclined his head in a respectful nod. "I've come to take the Undersecretary off your hands." Turning to Umbridge, Robards dug out an official looking scroll from his robe and held it up in front of him. "Dolores Umbridge, by the order of Director Scrimgeour I am placing you under arrest for abuse of power and conspiracy to commit treason."

The charges rang out like lightning strikes. For a moment, the silence in the Great Hall held among palpable tension. Then Umbridge jumped out of her seat, red-faced, but her indignant words were drowned out by the thunderous cheer that erupted from the students. Some were on their feet, openly applauding. A little ways down from where Ginny sat, Fred and George had climbed up onto the table and broke out into a jig, and nobody cared that they were stepping in food and knocking over pitchers of pumpkin juice.

Ron was standing as well, exchanging back-slaps with Seamus and Dean, their recent animosity suddenly forgotten, laughing together and making faces at Umbridge. Even Hermione, looking exhausted these days, cracked a genuine grin. Ginny simply sat in stunned silence. This was just _bizarre,_ even by the loony Hogwarts standards. Ron gave a whistle. Unfortunately for him, the cheering died down just as he spoke.

"You can _shove_ your Educational Decrees right up your-"

"Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall thundered and Ron immediately stopped, sat back down and tried to look smaller than he was. Ginny noticed, however, that this was the extent of the reprimand. Professor McGonagall didn't dock a single point.

By now Umbridge's face had become a suffocating shade of purple. Ginny wondered if in her outrage the toad had forgotten to breathe.

"What-is-this- _farce,_ Robards?" she growled in her annoying high-pitched voice.

Robards rolled up the scroll and stuck it back in his robe. "Not my concern, madam. I'm just doing my job."

With a terse, snapping gesture, Umbridge beckoned Robards closer. The Auror came up to the High Table and engaged in a short exchange with the woman. Ginny wished she could have heard what they were saying. The conversation was brief. Robards rigidly presented Umbridge with the warrant and she grabbed it, furious, scanning the document, her eyes gliding from side to side quickly. Finally, she rolled the scroll up again, so tightly she almost tore it in half.

She left the Great Hall escorted by the Aurors, not shielded from the students' view enough to not suffer their mocking as she went. Ginny trailed after the witch with her eyes, but didn't engage in the public ridicule. Professor McGonagall was allowing it, although she made a half-hearted attempt at calming the student body down once Umbridge and the Aurors were gone. She stood up then and the Hall fell silent.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts class is cancelled until further notice," she announced amid the applause.

The joyous atmosphere prevailed for the rest of the day, though Ginny went from class to class tense, for a reason she couldn't quite put down, like some ghostly itch that she couldn't locate and scratch out. She couldn't have known it was a sign of something awful to happen, but when it did, she knew why she'd been on edge.

She was lounging in the Common Room with her classmates, trying her best to involve herself in the round of gossip. She liked having friends outside her year now, but she missed her roommates.

"What about you, Gin?" Demelza prodded, though carefully. "Anything you want to share?"

Ginny hesitated. They were talking boys – Demelza's favourite subject – and she was being prompted to divulge something about Harry, something she had so far avoided. Really, with the weight of events he was involved in, Ginny was uncomfortable revealing anything.

She bit her lip, then relaxed, her decision made. There _were_ things she could talk about. "He's not the most romantic boy I've ever met," she said, a note of regret in her voice that surprised even her. "But he's a great kisser."

She joined the round of laughter that went around. Demelza ushered their circle to bring the chairs closer together. "Well, I bumped into Terry Boot in the Three Broomsticks last Hogsmeade weekend…" she began in a conspirational tone.

"Bumped?" Ginny asked, eyebrow riding up. "I'll bet you followed him from the castle."

Demelza gave a nonchalant shrug. "As long he doesn't know…"

They laughed again, but something else drew Ginny's eye. Cormac McLaggen, a known braggart, stood in front of the staircase leading up to the boys' dorms. Ron was blocking his way, arms crossed, face grim.

"Dream on, McLaggen," Ron said. "You're not getting in there."

"Or what, you're going to stand there all night? Not gonna let me into my room?"

Ron moved aside. "Go to _your_ room if you want, but if I see you trying to get into another one, I'll curse you down the stairs."

Ginny straightened in her chair. It wasn't the first argument she'd seen Ron get into. Summer was always a constant state of war between him and the twins. Threats of violence weren't anything new either, but this time, he lacked the usual overt temper that was wont to take him over. And this time, she knew he could back up his threats. Ron had taken to dueling better than any of them, save for Harry. If a fight broke out now…

But then happened something she wouldn't have expected.

"You know what, McLaggen," Ron said. "Go ahead."

Ginny was out of her chair and stalking towards Ron before McLaggen and his companions disappeared up the stairs.

"Ron, you're up to something. What is going on?"

"This idiot thinks Harry is to blame for something or other – honestly don't know what, wasn't listening – and he wants to search Harry's things. Good bloody luck."

By now everyone in the Common Room had abandoned whatever else they'd been doing and waited in a tense silence for McLaggen's return, with or without whatever evidence he was looking for.

But McLaggen didn't come storming down the stairs triumphantly. Instead, the Gryffindors collectively flinched when the silence was pierced by a scream. Ginny threw Ron a furious glare. He was _smirking._

"You knew this would happen!" she accused, trying to keep her voice down. "You don't think Harry's got enough on his plate?"

Ron glared right back, unphased. "The moron was asking for it. Now they will all know better than to mess with Harry. It's time they got some bloody sense knocked into them."

McLaggen did come back down, being hauled by his friend, cradling an injured arm. The sleeve of his robe was soaked through with blood.

"You- you _knew…"_ he gasped, staring wide-eyed at Ron.

"Now you know too," Ron shot back.

Ginny, and the rest of the stunned crowd of Gryffindors, watched as McLaggen was helped out of the Tower, presumably to the Hospital Wing.

"Ron," someone spoke up. Heads turned to Angelina Johnson, the senior Gryffindor prefect. "That was some sort of curse."

"How observant of you."

"Did you do it?"

No doubt everyone was hoping for a more elaborate answer than Ron's curt, "No."

Angelina glanced at the portrait hole where McLaggen had been moments ago. The portrait was still open and McLaggen's moaning carried through the hallway and back to the Common Room.

"I have to inform Professor McGonagall."

Ron nodded. "Sure." He went upstairs without another word. Ginny heard him slam the door shut. He didn't get to stay up there for long. Within minutes, Professor McGonagall was interviewing students in the Common Room. She couldn't rightly punish Ron, but she expected answers as to what had happened to McLaggen. Ginny, Ron and Hermione ended up in her office, being drilled about the curse that had almost taken off McLaggen's arm.

"Speak," McGonagall ordered brusquely.

Ginny remained silent, having no idea what spell Harry had put on his trunk to ward off intruders – she'd found out that much from Ron shortly before McGonagall showed up in the Tower. She shared a look with Hermione, but the other witch seemed to have no more of an idea than Ginny herself did. Professor McGonagall noticed their exchange and her eyes settled on Ron.

"Well, Mr. Weasley?"

Hands in his pockets, Ron shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what you want me to say, Professor. I know as much as you do."

"Don't try to be smart with me," McGonagall snapped.

"Is it against the rules that Harry locks his things away?"

"I can tell from your tone you know the answer already, Mr. Weasley, so please, do me the courtesy of being straightforward."

Ron gave her a rebellious look. "McLaggen tried to break into Harry's trunk. He got burned. I don't see what the problem is."

"The _problem_ is that were it not for Professor Snape's timely intervention, Mr. McLaggen would have _lost his arm."_

"Oh, great. Snape saved the day. Can I go now?"

Ginny flinched. Ron had never been so callous with Professor McGonagall before. Hermione clearly thought the same.

Professor McGonagall glared at Ron – something she rarely did – and finally said, "As much as I would like to exact some punishment, you are not at fault here, Mr. Weasley. You're dismissed."

Ron gave a nod and left. Ginny followed him, but Professor McGonagall stopped them. "Not you two."

"Professor?" Hermione asked. "I would tell you if I knew anything, but I honestly don't know what spell that was."

"Therein lies the crux of the matter," McGonagall said. "Neither do I. Neither does Professor Snape or Madam Pomfrey. As best we could tell, Mr. Potter apparently created that curse himself."

That was unexpected. Ginny had known Harry was being taught some advanced magic, but spellcrafting was another matter entirely. Most spellcrafters used Arithmancy, which Harry had never studied, as far as she knew.

"I was hoping one of you could offer some insight. Potter's been very secretive since he came back to Hogwarts."

Hermione looked for a moment like she was considering something, but then shook her head. "Sorry, Professor. If it's new magic, I don't know anything about it. Harry's been keeping secrets even from us."

"Miss Weasley? Any ideas?"

"I'm sorry, no."

"Oh, well. You may go."

They walked in silence until they'd left McGonagall's office a good distance behind. Then Hermione grabbed her hand and pulled her into an empty classroom.

"Did you know anything about this? Harry crafting _new spells?"_

"First I heard of it," Ginny said. "Don't you need Arithmancy and Ancient Runes for that? Harry didn't ask you for help?"

"I wish he had," Hermione said, frowning. "And that's why I don't think he actually created this curse. I think it's just some obscure spell Sirius taught him. Merlin knows he's got his nose stuck in Dark magic."

"Is that your problem with this? The Dark magic part?"

Ron stood by the door, having sneaked in when they hadn't been looking.

Hermione crossed her arms, a gesture that spoke volumes of just what she thought of that. "Harry's cousin died because Harry couldn't summon his patronus. That was months ago." She let her words hang, but Ron wasn't taking her message.

"I remember him saying 'good riddance' when he told us about it. So what's your point?"

"My _point,_ Ron, is that practicing Dark magic changes a person. We don't know what Sirius has been teaching him. We don't know how far he's gone-"

"Bollocks…" Ron muttered.

"Or how far you've gone," Hermione finished.

Whatever retort Ron had prepared, it died a quick death, replaced by a cold smile that Ginny had never seen on her brother. His mouth quirked into a curve, but his eyes remained distant, guarded. Ron wore his emotions on his sleeve, this wasn't like him. It was as if an impostor was standing in front of them, one who didn't know how to impersonate Ron beyond drinking Polyjuice Potion.

"Harry will go as far as it takes," Ron said. "And I will help him get there."

He left then, leaving Ginny and Hermione to exchange worried looks.

"These boys…" Hermione said quietly. Ginny nodded in agreement. No more words were needed. She knew exactly what Hermione meant.

~~oOo~~

The day had come.

Preparations had been made, accounting for anything within the Order's power to control. The Daily Prophet had been given enough time to steer the public in a desired direction, piloted by Rita Skeeter's quill. Chief Editor Cuffe had swallowed Sirius' bribes just as easily as he had promises from Fudge. Commandeering the Ministry's propaganda engine had cost Sirius a pretty penny – the price of freedom, he mused. Scrimgeour had continued to cooperate, even after his definitive split from the conspiracy, if for no other reason that he'd invested too much into this whole affair to simply withdraw.

Thus, several days before Christmas, Sirius woke up in a Ministry holding cell, awaiting trial. He had turned himself in the previous day, before a bewildered crowd in the Atrium. Some people had screamed, others had drawn wands or pleaded mercy, still others had watched in stunned silence as Scrimgeour put Sirius under arrest.

He'd got no sleep at all. It took him an hour to drift off into that half-waking state just before sleep took over and he remained there, unable to calm down. He'd tried everything – meditation, Occlumency, counting jackalopes – nothing put him to sleep. He welcomed the morning tired, but too alert to let it impede him. Today was the culmination of two years of effort. Strange, that living as a fugitive bothered him more than the empty days he'd spent in Azkaban.

"It wasn't living, Sirius," Remus had told him once. "Just surviving." Sirius supposed there was a bit of a philosopher in every wizard.

He sat on the bunk bed – just a steel plate affixed to the wall and a tough mattress on top of it – staring at the far wall, idly counting bricks, when there was a squelch of the lock and the door slowly swung open. An Auror strode inside and performed a quick inspection. Definitely not a rookie, but he seemed jumpy.

Sirius smiled.

"Boo."

"Dammit!" The Auror pointed his wand at him in an impressive display of reflexes.

Sirius' face cracked into a full-blown grin. "Couldn't help myself, mate."

The Auror looked at him like he was insane. Sirius was content to let the man think what he would. Outside of the Order, only a select few people were in on the secret. For all that Auror knew, Sirius was going to get the Kiss.

Not today.

His inspection done with, the Auror – still observing Sirius warily – allowed Sirius' visitor inside. Elphias Doge came in, hunched over – old age didn't agree with him.

"Thank you. You can leave us," Doge said.

"I have orders not to-"

"I have a wand," Doge interrupted sternly. "He does not."

The Auror cast another glance at Sirius, but left the cell without more protest. As soon as they door closed behind him, Doge reached into the sleeve of his robe, pulled out a wand and tossed it to Sirius.

"Death Eaters have infiltrated the crowd in the courtroom."

Sirius quickly concealed the wand, eyes skirting the room, even though he knew there were no monitoring charms. Kingsley had seen to that. "So, Scrimgeour was fooled by the fake wand?"

Doge shook his head. "For five minutes. Kingsley intervened."

"How'd that go?"

"He wasn't surprised. I suspect he's known of Kingsley's allegiance to the Order from the beginning. Not an easy man to trick, Scrimgeour."

Smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket, Sirius stood up. "Do we know which Death Eaters?"

"No. Snape claims he told us as much as he could without putting himself in danger of being discovered."

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "Of course he did. Why do we even keep him around anymore?"

"He did warn us," Doge pointed out.

"Is Dumbledore worried the Death Eaters might try something?"

"He doesn't believe they're here for you."

 _Peter,_ Sirius thought. _Voldemort might want him back still._

"I'm ready," Sirius said.

Doge thumped his fist on the door twice. The Auror came back in – with a partner this time – and put a pair of handcuffs around Sirius' wrists. The long-forgotten sensation of his magic being smothered came over him with a wave of nausea. He breathed deeply, steeling himself. The second act of their play was about to begin.

Two more Aurors joined the group and Sirius and Doge were led through a series of narrow, dark hallways that Sirius was sure were designed to confuse the prisoners being led to the courtrooms. As they went, the blocking enchantments on the handcuffs seeped in deeper under his skin and a headache set in. By the time they arrived at their destination, Sirius was hard pressed to notice what was happening around him. He was led into a tiny room, dominated by a chair hung with black chains. The handcuffs came off and for a moment he felt better, but then the chains came alive, binding him, and the nausea intensified.

Two of the Aurors escorting him stayed behind while the chains did their work.

"Magic inhibitors are working," one of the Aurors said.

"Lovely," said the other. He moved with unerring precision, wand pointing at his colleague.

Sirius blinked several times. _This_ was one of the Death Eaters? How could Kingsley have missed this? He recognised the Confundus Charm and the subsequent Memory Charm.

"Now that that's taken care of..." the Death Eater muttered, stepping closer. He tapped the chains with his wand and Sirius gasped in relief, his magic flooding his body. He struggled to reach for his wand, but the chains still trapped him in place.

"Give it a moment, you're confused," said the Death Eater.

He couldn't reach his wand!

Then the Death Eater ran a hand past his face and the magic concealing him fell away.

"Sturgis?"

"Just don't blab," Sturgis said. "I'm going against orders. Dumbledore thought it would lend credence to your case if you were, in fact, properly restrained. You'll have to pretend to be half out of your mind up there."

The Hit-wizard then drew his wand over the chains, rearranging them in such a way that with a little wriggling, Sirius could now reach his wand if he needed it.

"Don't worry about the Death Eaters in the room. There won't be any. Well, apart from Lucius, but his absence would be too conspicuous."

Flashing a dark smile, Sturis reapplied his disguise and left the room. Once the door closed, the room rumbled as panels in the ceiling folded away and the chair rose up into the courtroom. Sirius assumed an appropriately confused expression. Doge would do most of the talking anyway. His part in the trial itself was thankfully small. The Order had done everything to stack the deck for him.

As the courtroom came into view, Sirius found himself nearly blinded by camera flashes going off from every direction. Strikes of the gavel rang out like thunder, drowning out all other noise.

"Order!" called a stately man in the decorated robes – Chief Warlock Selwyn, Sirius thought. He leaned over his lectern, looming over Sirius. "Sirius Black, you stand accused of serving You-Know-Who, betraying Lily and James Potter to him and murdering Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles. How do you plead?"

Sirius met the Chief Warlock's gaze. "Not guilty."

~~oOo~~

In hindsight, he needn't have worried about being caught. The buzz surrounding the trial played right into his hands and Sturgis and Tonks had found ways around anything else.

Tonks had been his Auror escort to the courtroom and once there, he was just a wizard in the crowd, evading unwanted attention thanks to a Notice-me-not Charm. His testimony wasn't necessary and everyone agreed that the less was widely known about the circumstances of Sirius' escape from Hogwarts, the better. He was to be the last resort, the ace to pull out if everything else failed to convince the Wizengamot. Thankfully, the fact of Peter's survival while he had been thought dead tipped the scales in Sirius' favour.

Really, he shouldn't be surprised. So much preparation had gone into the trial it might as well have been a stage play, performed for the benefit of the public.

"Sirius Black." The Chief Warlock rose from his seat with a momentous air. "You are owed an apology for the unlawful imprisonment you have suffered. By a unanimous decision of the Wizengamot, you are free to go."

 _You're owed an apology, but you're not getting one from us,_ Harry thought. _Clever way to put it._ But he wasn't going to complain, because Sirius was _free._

It was time.

He pushed through the crowd while the Aurors tried, with limited success, to contain the surging crowd. The reporters shouted questions at Sirius, but their words were lost in the noise. Assisting himself with a few well-placed spells, Harry extricated himself from the throng of people in the courtroom, leaving Sirius behind to be swarmed. Sirius could handle himself and Harry only had one chance at this.

Fortunately, in the bowels of the Ministry, not far from the Department of Mysteries, there were enough nooks that Harry readily found one to duck into and get under the Cloak. Thus hidden, he headed towards the agreed upon spot, recounting the instructions Tonks had drilled into him this morning. Sure enough, he soon found a lift tucked away in the myriad of dark hallways, one of several that weren't a part of the main transport axis of the Ministry. Those were mostly used by Unspeakables and few people at the Ministry knew they were there at all. Tonks wouldn't say how she had learned about them.

The lift he had been instructed to get to was being guarded by an unfamiliar Auror. The man stood rigid in front of the door, his hand resting close to his wand holster. Mumbling swears under his nose, Harry prepared to knock him out when Tonks ran into view, screeching to a halt on the slick tiles.

"Is he here yet?"

The Auror brushed an open palm past his face – it changed, revealing Sturgis.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked, pulling down the hood of the Cloak. Tonks jumped at his sudden appearance, while Sturgis merely blinked. "Was that some kind of transfiguration?" Harry paused, his eyes flicking between Sturgis and Tonks. "Are you a metamorphmagus?"

"No time," Sturgis barked, shoving him towards the lift.

Tonks tapped it with her wand and the grate slid open. "Pettigrew's shipping out to Azkaban right away. Scrimgeour's orders," she said. "There will be a layover on the coast, they're going to switch portkeys. Part of new security measures. That's our only chance to grab him."

The lift took off sharply, accelerating not unlike a broom, with instant momentum. The floors flicked by quickly and before Harry knew it, they ground to a halt. Tonks stuck her head out first.

"We're clear. Come on. Harry, get under the Cloak."

He put up the hood and followed his co-conspirators through the strangely empty hallways. This part of the Ministry seemed deserted, even though it was barely past ten in the morning. Just how big was the Ministry building? He had half a mind to ask, but before he could, Tonks stopped abruptly.

"Shit. Sentries up ahead. We're passing close to the old archives."

"We jump them and knock them out," Sturgis whispered.

"Too risky, we could set off alarms," Tonks argued.

"We'll use Disillusionment Charms."

"That will _definitely_ set off alarms."

Harry tuned out their banter and rounded the corner. A short distance down the hallway perpendicular to their route were indeed a pair of Aurors. The hallway ended with a door and the guards were looking towards Harry. He jogged closer, within a few feet of them, and unsheathed his wand.

The Auror to his left crumpled silently to the ground. His partner only had time to flinch in the burst of red light before the second stunner downed him. Without looking back, Harry quickly made his way back to find Tonks and Sturgis readying to neutralise the already removed obstacle.

"On three. One, two-"

"Too late," Harry said, shimmering into view.

Tonks opened her mouth, closed it and peeked around the corner. "Okay, I guess that's taken care of."

Sturgis looked at him sternly. "Just tell us before you decide to do something like this again."

They crossed two more intersections and finally arrived at a nondescript door.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"Atrium," Tonks whispered. "Stay under the Cloak and keep close."

"We're going out by Floo," Sturgis added.

Tonks opened the door and Harry followed her out into the Atrium. The morning crowd had already passed through, but there were still a fair number of people there, arriving or leaving the Ministry. Tonks made straight for the nearest of the enormous fireplaces. Sturgis handed her something and she immediately left.

"Harry, take this," Sturgis mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

It was a playing card. The Queen of Hearts.

"It's a key to let you through the enchantments."

"The Dungeon Keeper?"

"Yes. Go," Sturgis said, his tone insisting. "I'm right behind you."

Hoping no one would notice the fireplace firing while seemingly empty, Harry Flooed out of the Ministry, holding onto the the card. It almost slipped out of his grasp during his journey through the Floo Network, but the Keeper's fireplace spat him out before he lost it. He had only collected himself from the ground when Sturgis arrived.

The Dungeon Keeper was abandoned, save for a quartet of goblins standing among the wreckage. They were in the middle of a heated discussion, gesturing wildly at various examples of the devastation Malfoy had wrought. Broken furniture had been piled together into a heap that almost touched the ceiling, enormous fragments of which had broken off and lay about haphazardly, making the Keeper's main floor into a small labyrinth. The goblins fell silent while Harry and his companions walked by, resuming once they were out of earshot.

"What are they doing here?" Harry asked quietly.

"Mallory's hired them to do the repairs."

"Will people come back, after what's happened?"

Sturgis smiled slyly. "How many times did you almost die at Hogwarts?"

"Ah." He understood.

Mallory came out to greet them, carrying one of her snowglobes. She tossed it to Sturgis. "I've achieved almost pinpoint precision with this one. Really, it's quite amazing." She turned to Harry. "You know, normally I charge for those, but I guess I owe you one."

"What about me? I was there too," said Sturgis with a faux-pout.

"Bye, Harry," Mallory said, winking at him. "Bye, Harry's friends. I've work to do." She sauntered over to the goblins and butted in on their conversation. From their indignation, Harry surmised whatever she said didn't go over well with them.

"Greedy little bastards," Sturgis muttered. "Hold on. We don't have much time."

The portkey deposited them at the edge of a forest, right next to a rocky coast. The sky was overcast, heralding a coming rainfall.

Sturgis looked at Tonks. "Is this the place?"

"Yes. Right where we're standing, actually, so we need to get away." They ducked behind a pair of large, jagged-edged rocks. "We'll have the element of surprise, but they will have the numbers. We probably don't want to get into a pitched battle with Aurors. And I know that it'll be Robards' team. Scrimgeour wanted his best escorting Pettigrew."

Harry shared a knowing look with Sturgis. Tonks didn't know what they were really here to do.

 _What I'm here to do._

"We go in fast and heavy," Sturgis instructed. "Flashbang Hexes, bludgeoners, stunners. We'll have the advantage, but only as long as we don't let them form a defence. Harry, whatever you do, don't-"

He didn't get to finish. Their prey had arrived.

Peter Pettigrew, his hands clapped in irons, head hung low, was surrounded by five Aurors.

"Not yet," Sturgis warned. Harry itched to get out there, get to Peter, his body tense like a squeezed spring…

And then Auror Captain Robards screwed everything up.

"Keep an eye on the prisoner. _Homenum revelio."_

With dawning horror, Harry felt the spell touch Tonks and Sturgis and zap back to Robards. He saw the Auror's eyes grow wide.

"Ambush!" Robards cried out.

No. He wasn't going to be denied what was his to take.

He stood, arm outstretched, wand spewing forth fire. The thin flame lanced towards Robards, spearing right through his stomach before the Auror could conjure a shield. Next to him, Sturgis launched a Flashbang Hex toward the remaining four Aurors. Tonks joined in, battering their shields with a bludgeoner. As Robards fell, the rocky beach became a battlefield. The Aurors formed a line, covering each other with their shields, repelling most of the attacks. Less than a minute into the engagement, Harry knew the odds of getting to Peter grew smaller with each deflected spell.

Then, the tide was turned. Suddenly, Sturgis wasn't at his side anymore. He was right there among the Aurors, having apparated into their ranks, handing out quick blows, low kicks, unrepentant, vicious, precise. Two Aurors were on the ground before the others noticed something had changed. Sturgis whipped his wand at one, the Banishing Charm launching him far over the water, but before he went under, he was yanked right back, towards the last standing Auror. Entangled together, they were dragged along the ground in a cloud of dust and dirt. Finally, Sturgis hit each one with a stunner.

Harry walked over to Robards, clutching his stomach and kicked the man's wand aside. "Sorry about that. _Stupefy."_

"I've never seen you do that," said Tonks, staring at Sturgis with unbridled awe.

"We haven't known each other that long," Sturgis pointed out.

"I've seen you fight before, but not like this."

Sturgis shrugged. "I don't like to show off. Harry, what was that spell?"

"Sirius showed it to me."

The Hit-wizard pointed at Robards. "Is he going to be alright? We don't need him bleeding out."

"He'll be fine," Harry said, but Sturgis didn't look convinced. "That spell wasn't invented for killing."

"...Fine. Tonks - we appreciate your help, but your services are no longer needed. We'll make sure they don't remember you being here."

Tonks' hair darkened from pink to red, then paled into blue – as Harry had learned, a sign of suspicion. She crossed her arms, wand peeking out from between them. "I thought we were just recapturing him," she said, pointing at Peter with her chin, lying unconscious between the two Aurors Sturgis had knocked out physically – he must have been hit by one of the stray stunners. "What exactly are we doing?"

 _"We're_ not doing anything anymore," Harry said. "Because you're going back to the Ministry."

Tonks stared at him for a long moment while Sturgis cast Memory Charms on the Aurors. "I'm going to trust you, Harry… Don't make me regret it." And with a pop of apparition, she was gone.

They left the Aurors where they'd fallen and levitated Peter away from the scene of the impromptu battle, a little ways inside the forest. It was strange enough that it was the middle of the day, but Harry thought it would be wrong to do it under the sun. The cover of shadows under the trees seemed better suited to his imminent fould deed.

Sturgis handed him a spare wand. "It belongs to one of the werewolves you and Sirius caught. Good enough for the Dark Mark."

Harry looked up and nodded, swallowing hard. "Thank you… for your help."

"Do you… want some privacy?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Better not risk it. He could try something."

"Very well. Whenever you're ready."

No stalling. He had made his decision.

 _"Rennervate."_

Peter came to, blinking confusedly. He noticed the handcuffs on his wrists and the two wizards standing above him, their wands pointed at him. "I have to say, I didn't think we would meet like this."

Sturgis tossed a small key into Peter's lap. "Take the cuffs off."

Peter complied, his fingers as deft as a rat's. He threw the handcuffs away, massaging his wrists. "Has the Dark Lord captured another one of yours? I doubt he'll agree to exchange them for me. As much as it pains me to say it, I'm of no value to him now that Sirius is a free man."

"I think a Death Eater such as you is worth a fair bit to him," said Sturgis, "then again, it doesn't matter anymore. He won't care about your corpse."

The way Peter stiffened at Sturgis' remark put a smile on Harry's face.

"Very soon, there will be one less Death Eater in the world… But first, I need you to do something for me." He circled Peter to stand behind him and pointed his wand at the back of his neck. "Take this…" He carefully slid the spare wand into Peter's hand. "...and conjure the Dark Mark up above us."

"I'm sure there's _something_ you want that the Dark Lord has," Peter said, his voice hoarse, his previous arrogance gone. "I can still be of use to you."

"Of course you can," Harry said quietly. "The Dark Mark."

"Harry… are you really going to kill me?"

His reply was wrought from the cold hatred he'd been carrying for months, and the longing pull of Dark magic, calling out to him every time he raised his wand. He recalled the acidic burn of anger he had felt when he found out it had been Peter, not Sirius, who had betrayed his parents to Voldemort, and poured it all into this one word.

 _"Yes."_

"Enough stalling," Sturgis muttered. The spell splashed on Peter's chest, coating him in its smothering grip. The Imperius Curse took hold immediately and Peter stiffly picked up the wand in front of him and pointed it above his head.

 _"Morsmordre."_

The spell streaked up among the trees, high into the sky, and with a flash, a skull emerged from among the grey clouds, a snake slithering out of its mouth. Peter returned the wand to Sturgis, who then ended the curse.

Peter looked up, at the Dark Mark conjured by his hand, a herald of death – this time, his own.

"Kneel," Harry hissed. "You don't deserve to die on your feet."

Defeated, Peter collapsed to all fours, his long, wild hair obscuring his face. Harry lowered his wand, pointed it at the Death Eater's back, the words leaping to the tip of his tongue… and getting stuck there.

Why was he hesitating _now?_

He looked up at Sturgis, their conversation in the Dungeon Keeper flashing before his eyes. He heard Hermione's scream again, when she discovered the bloody message in her room, her face when he bolted inside. More faces appeared: Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus. The rats he killed by the dozens at Grimmauld Place.

Was he really a killer? Was he ready to become one? Could he stand to never be more than righteous, never a good man? He had spent weeks fantasising, imagining this moment – his fantasies ended on the moment he raised his wand. Should he have pushed them further? _Did he not want this?_

"Harry." He heard Sturgis' voice like through a wall, even though the Hit-wizard stood not three feet from him. "He deserves to die, but you don't have to be the one to kill him."

Sturgis' words were the catalyst, dissolving his doubts at once. "Yes… He deserves to die." He tightened his grip. _"Avada-"_

Before he could finish, his wand was yanked from his hand. Sturgis immediately moved to stand between him and the intruder – a Death Eater in a silver mask. With a wave of the Death Eater's wand, the mask vanished into thin air.

"You know, Harry…" Mulciber drawled, smiling devilishly, "I almost wish I was late."


	22. CHAPTER SEVEN: Sundering, Part 2

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Sundering**

 **Part 2**

Time had stopped.

Harry stood, staring at Mulciber, his empty hand still pointing at Peter, grasping at the air where his wand should be.

"Harry, on my mark…" Sturgis muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Not so fast, Sturgis," Mulciber said. He looked entirely at ease, as he always did. "Hand over Wormtail. Then I'll _consider_ letting you go."

"...be ready…"

"You didn't think I came alone, did you?"

The cracks of apparition were drowned out by the blast of a curse slamming into Mulciber's side. Just as more Death Eaters arrived, Mulciber was blasted sideways, tearing through the forest and out of view. Sturgis reacted instantly, his arm shooting out towards where Mulciber had disappeared.

Snatching his summoned wand from the air, Harry moved with purpose, throwing himself bodily behind the thick trunk of a nearby tree, narrowly avoiding evisceration. He peeked out from his cover – Peter was making his escape towards the Death Eaters. Up ahead, Greyback and Walden Macnair were doing short work of trees and shrubs in their path, quickly clearing the battlefield of obstacles. A small distance behind them, a crazed-looking witch was exchanging curses with Sirius, who had come out of nowhere, attacking the Death Eater's flank.

Harry trusted Sirius and Sturgis to handle the worst. Mulciber wouldn't be out of battle for long – he had perhaps seconds to retrieve Peter.

He stepped out from behind the tree. Already, Greyback and Macnair had carved out a small clearing, trees laying obliterated, broken, instantly incinerated or torn from the ground, roots and all. Sturgis was doing incredible things with his wand, transfiguring everything in sight to aid him in battle: leaves shot forward, their edges glinting like knives, branches slithered to trap the enemy in place, fallen trees stood upright to shield him from attacks.

Peter transformed. Harry felt a lance of panic shoot through him – how the hell was he supposed to find a rat in this chaos?

His predicament wasn't helped when Mulciber stepped back into view. His smile was gone, replaced by a look of grim determination. Harry slung a curse at him, but Mulciber deflected it and turned to Sirius, still dueling the witch.

It would have been the end of Sirius, but he was saved by the newest arrival – Remus charged onto the clearing, ramming Mulciber with his shoulder, knocking the Death Eater to the ground. Mulciber helped himself up with a spell, leaning against a tree, gaze scattered and finally seeing Remus. The werewolf launched himself forward, but Mulciber slinked away under his arm, Remus' blow leaving a scar in the trunk.

"Potter, get outta here!"

Head spinning, Harry spotted Moody manoeuvring between the debris, where he was met by Macnair. The raging battle had now become several duels: Sturgis duking it out with Greyback, Macnair and Moody, Sirius and the witch, Remus chasing Mulciber.

Harry almost missed the severing curse that would have cleaved him in two, countering when it was in front of his nose. Peter had gotten hold of the wand he'd conjured the Dark Mark with.

"Once more into the fray, Harry!" he yelled, a deranged grin on his face. Harry matched it with his own.

"I'll take that chance."

Spells exploded from their wands, clashing halfway, more following them even before the flash of the collision vanished. Harry took advantage of his mobility, closing distance between each curse. He had got better since his last duel with Peter, but even now he couldn't afford flamboyance or taunts – the Death Eater gave as good as he got.

They traded curses long enough for sweat to start pouring down Harry's forehead, but Peter's stamina was winding down. Harry pressed forward, looking for an opening. Peter was still too quick for him to try transfigurations, but he something else up his sleeve.

With a snap of the wrist, he flash-burned the ground around Peter's feet into a black scar. With a scream, Peter jumped away, tumbling to the ground as the soles of his shoes smoked from the heat. Grinning, Harry nailed a fallen tree Peter had fallen onto with a spell of his own.

 _"Tagoregor!"_

Peter screamed again, pressing his left hand to his chest. The hand had turned a sickly yellow, blood trickling out of a hundred punctures, fingers bloating painfully. Elated, Harry raised his wand for the finishing blow, his pride giving Peter the second he needed for a spell of his own. It happened too fast for him to consciously comprehend it, but a single word went through his mind.

 _Shit._

He put up a shield just an explosion launched him backwards. He landed painfully on his back. The immediate area around Peter had been obscured by a quickly clearing cloud of dust and falling splinters. That single spell changed the entire dynamic of the battle. Duels broke up momentarily as everyone regained their footing.

Mulciber tore open his left sleeve and pressed a thumb to his Mark and the chaotic battle turned into absolute pandemonium.

Cracks of apparition rang out like a dozen whips splitting the air. All around Harry, figures in dark robes of Death Eaters and scarlet cloaks of Aurors appeared, the battle growing larger by the second. Kingsley apparated right next to him. They exchanged a confused look and dove right into the fighting.

Peter's curse had carved a small crater at the center of the battle. The rat was still there, dazed by his own spell, but getting back on his feet. Two wizards and a young witch now stood between him and Harry. Harry tore forward, making short work of the wizards with a pair of well-placed curses, but the witch had had enough time to get her bearings. She initiated a duel, while Peter was working his way towards the opposite edge of the battlefield.

 _I don't have time for you, little witch._

He had rid himself of inhibitions the moment Peter's blast nearly took off his legs. He parried two, three, four of the witch's spells and finally saw an opening. Slashing his wand at the ground, he directed the spell's energy through the earth.

 _"Ignis Maledictus!"_

A dozen thin flames erupted from the ground in a circle, shooting upwards and meeting above the witch's head, closing into a fiery cage. Sparks then sprinkled from the cage's bars, leaving a thousand burning wounds on the witch. Her eyes scorched, she collapsed clawing at her face. Harry allowed the Fiendfyre to torrent up into the sky, willed it to circle above his head and reformed it into one giant lance, a javelin of burning destruction.

It launched forward, low above the ground, charring it and vegetation it passed over, taking a chunk out of a Death Eater's torso. Harry wrestled for control as the Cursed Fire tried to break free, directing the javelin to splash against Peter's back. For a second he lost view of the rat, but when the Fiendfyre had dispersed, Peter lay on the ground, his back one giant red-black scar.

Around him, the Death Eaters were gaining advantage. Joined by some of Greyback's werewolves, they were quickly overwhelming the Aurors, pushing them towards the center with Harry and the Order. Forced on the defensive, Harry soon found himself back to back with Sturgis, heaving for air, his wand arm trembling, but still with a curse ready on the tip. The battle stalled as Mulciber and Greyback directed the Death Eaters to surround the holdouts. Harry's eyes darted left and right – there were too many of them. Barely a dozen of the Aurors were left standing and the Order hadn't fared terribly well either.

At least Peter was still there. Unconscious and injured, but still annoyingly _alive._ By lucky circumstance, the rat lay in the middle of the group of Aurors and Order members.

Mulciber, favoring one leg, stepped forward. Remus had done a number on the bastard.

"As entertaining as this is," Mulciber said, "my appetite for mayhem is sated for today. Hand over Peter Pettigrew, or none of you will leave here alive."

~~oOo~~

Midday drew near. He preferred the cover of night, but his window of opportunity didn't align with it. At least he could keep the curtains in the ballroom closed. Most men feared darkness, but he thrived in it.

He sat on the throne-like chair, fingers tapping away on the armrest, awaiting the messenger. The wait was grating, but necessary – haste ruined the best laid plans just as readily as lateness.

Mulciber was pacing about the room, spreading around enough anxiety for them both. That man could be patient as a stone one moment, restless the next. Admittedly, it was one of the things that made him the wizard he was. Among his Death Eaters, Mulciber was the only such chameleon. Well, he and the girl…

"My Lord!"

Yaxley strode inside and inclined his head in a bow.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Is it time?"

"Yes, my Lord. The trial has just ended."

"You weren't discovered?"

"No, my Lord. As it happens, I've been able to move more freely since Shacklebolt sidelined me. And my Lord…" Yaxley approached, holding something on an open palm.

Voldemort rose from his seat. Smiling, he picked up the rune-engraved medallion. "Rookwood came through after all. Excellent. Yaxley, return to the Ministry. Signal me if necessary."

Again alone with Mulciber, Voldemort turned to face him. "Time for you as well."

Mulciber looked up, rebellious as always when they were alone. "Do you want him dead or back here?"

"I want him out of the Order's reach. If he must die, the Order must think he wasn't supposed to."

Mulciber glanced at him – so much resentment in that look – and swept out of the room, the doors slamming behind him with such force that the entire ballroom rumbled. Voldemort closed a fist around the medallion and pictured his destination.

Swirling through the un-reality of apparition, he arrived in the circular anteroom of the Department of Mysteries. He turned the medallion over in his hand, appreciating the runecraft involved, then put it away. Credit where credit was due, Algernon Croaker was a brilliant arithmancer. What a pity he adhered to the wrong worldview.

Hearing the door behind him click open, he drew his wand upwards along his torso and, hidden, waited for the two Unspeakables to pass through the room.

"Have you heard the news? About MacKree?"

"Yeah, heard he's working with the Director now, improving the ward keys."

"What a schmuck. Thinks he's such a treasure, that one, I swear…"

"He is good, though."

"Everyone here is good, Bram."

So, Augustus was getting on his colleagues nerves. He would have to be reminded to tone down his performance. Alistair MacKree was supposed to be a novice.

The two Unspeakables left through the leftmost door. From where he stood, Voldemort could see an enormous water tank in the room beyond – not his destination, then. Once the door closed, the chamber's walls began to move and spun faster and faster.

Applying magical sight to his eyes, Voldemort observed the individual doors through the lenses of different colours – all but one of the enchantments were shared between them. The individual one made the doors what they were – entry points into different sections of the Department. The colours spun along with the walls, so quickly that soon they blended into a flickering white band, the enormous speed serving as a prism. Fascinating – the spin of the walls wasn't just there to confuse uninvited guests, the doorways themselves changed positions. The spinning walls were only meant to conceal that shuffle. A double deception.

Magical sight didn't pierce the doors themselves. No matter his expertise at charms, the spells here obscured outside penetration.

 _Ah… Of course._

Reaching for the medallion again, he flicked it between his fingers, feeling the lines of runes, the not quite smooth surface of the imperfectly formed edge, his own natural magic identifying the medallion's enchantments by mere touch. As he'd predicted, the medallion wasn't an entirely separate entity – there was a delicate thread anchoring it to the ward scheme enclosing the Department, a hole in the walls of Croaker's fortress. A hole the man had put there himself, but a weakness nonetheless. Voldemort looked down at the medallion, disappointed. If Croaker had to resort to this method, he didn't deserve the credit previously given. Not quite as inventive as he seemed. But, his failure was Voldemort's success.

Once he held the anchor in his grasp, it was enough to attach his spell to it, threading the magic through the needle-eye of the wards' vulnerability. The magical sight seeped through the puncture, flooding into the rooms behind all the doors.

Now able to see through the obstacle, Voldemort chose the third door on his right, leading to the Department's library. There was scarcely a greater treasure trove of arcane knowledge anywhere in the world. Few other wizarding governments condoned experimentation on a similar scale.

He passed through the room quickly – there would be ample time to peruse the scrolls once he had secured his victory – heading for the door at the opposite end. It opened into a short hallway, dotted with a dozen more doors. Once again, the medallion allowed his magical sight to see beyond the otherwise impenetrable barriers and he swiftly moved through more rooms, Rookwood's instructions guiding him to his target – a laboratory above the Hall of Prophecy, hidden from sight of all outside of it.

The goblin-forged lock was reinforced with some of the trickiest magic he'd ever seen. Enchantments like those were just shy of legend, like the out-of-time gates of Babylon, where kings of old had sealed away the secrets of Life, stolen from Death. Magic of the kind that breathed almost-life into the gargoyle outside the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts…

Dumbledore was as magnificent a wizard as he was unyielding an enemy. Had Croaker consulted him for assistance, or was this another of Dumbledore's anonymous contributions, like the traps in Azkaban? Probably the latter. Algernon Croaker was too proud to let anyone meddle in his domain.

He wasn't Grindelwald's prize pupil for nothing, however. With a bit of smart wandwork, the lock opened without a sound. Voldemort pushed the door open and paused to take in the sight before him. Rarely did he see something to stop him in his tracks, but this was worth a moment of contemplation.

The laboratory had no walls and no ceiling. Suspended in midair above the tall shelves, it floated gently over the seemingly boundless Hall of Prophecy. The door behind him stood at the edge of the floor, a platform of clear glass tiles, enshrouded in the darkness that permeated the Hall. There was just enough light to see by, to make out the glass tables laden with scrolls and enchanted apparatuses.

In the centre of the platform stood a pedestal in the shape of a steep, upside down pyramid. There was a slight circular indentation in the flat top, where the Keeper of Prophecies would place an empty orb while working on enclosing a prophecy within. Like the Veil, the purpose of which the Unspeakables were still searching for, this pedestal was a tool found in the ruins of the ancient world, a creation of the wizards of old. Not yet fully understood, but enough that the Keeper could use it for their craft.

Voldemort reached into his robe, withdrew the prophecy orb and placed it on the pedestal. Instantly, the spell-mist inside the orb swirled and the image of Sybill Trelawney appeared. She spoke, reciting the words that caused his downfall fourteen years ago.

 _"...for neither can live while the other survives…"_ Sybill said, her voice deep and hollow.

Therein lay the crux of the matter. _While the other survives._ He'd spent many evenings thinking about those words, looking for all possible interpretations. He concluded that had he made some different choices, this part of the prophecy would be straightforward enough – either he or Potter would have to kill the other. Alas, nothing was ever simple when it came to horcruxes. He had made mistakes and was only just beginning to understand their implications. His presence here, the orb and the pedestal it rested upon were all necessary if he were to find the answers he sought.

He tapped the orb with his wand, activating the pedestal. Lines of intertwining runes lit up on its surface, the lines perfectly straight, curves precisely angled. They converged beneath the orb, and the crystal lit up with magical energy. The spell-mist inside vanished, leaving a clear crystal, with a single, brilliant point in the centre.

Weaving a spell over the orb, he quietly chanted the incantation. A blue flash emerged momentarily from the orb's circumference and the top half rose. The point of light expanded into a pulsating sphere, swelling inch by inch with each second, until its light swallowed both halves of the orb. Voldemort let it unwind itself and banished it – he no longer had need of the prophecy's record. Now only the orb remained.

With a wave of his wand, the bottom half joined its counterpart in the air and the two began circling each other, spinning faster and faster. As if pulled apart by momentum, the halves then split into a number of flat disks, each smaller than the one that preceded it. A simple charm turned the clear crystal black, revealing hidden markings etched into the crystal.

Levitating the disks into correct positions required a fair bit of trial and error – unfortunately, they weren't numbered in any way, or otherwise inscribed with their correct positions – but soon enough, Voldemort arranged them into a floating three-dimensional array. Standing in just the right spot, one could read the words and diagrams written on them: a record of Dumbledore's own research into horcruxes, hidden in the most unlikely of places.

It would be foolish to assume this was the only copy, or that it was up to date, given that the orb had been in his possession for months, but it was still an invaluable insight into his enemy's mind. A cursory glance told him that Dumbledore, for all his genius and with years of searching, had only been able to piece together the barest of basics of the alchemical theory behind horcruxes. Notes about Voldemort himself were much more interesting.

He was taken aback at their abundance and accuracy. Dumbledore had used his time well. But no matter – his most important secrets were most likely still safe, given the scarcity of information on the horcruxes themselves. If Dumbledore hadn't been able to learn more in fourteen years, it was safe to assume he hadn't made great leaps in the past few months. And very soon, Voldemort would control all remaining sources of this knowledge. The link he shared with Potter was the only one that was even a remote possibility, but Dumbledore wouldn't dare force it open, not if it meant putting Potter in danger.

But Potter might… It was unlikely that Dumbledore had shared his findings with him, given the man's propensity for keeping secrets, but it was just as likely that he would if he had no other choice. Only Dumbledore's swift, sudden death would guarantee Potter's ignorance. Nott must be reminded to redouble his efforts.

He reassembled the orb into its original form. Now that the pedestal had unlocked it, he could separate it into disks at will. Just as the pedestal's runes faded, the door opened slowly.

Albus Dumbledore stepped onto the glass platform, his wand arm down by his side.

"I expected you to find your way here eventually, Tom," he said quietly. "I only wish I could have caught up to you sooner."

"But you failed, and now I know what you know," Voldemort replied. Dumbledore was cautious, he wouldn't have come alone. The Order of the Phoenix couldn't be far behind.

"Yes. You know. And now, we shall duel."

"Must we? I came to this place to learn. You don't benefit from fighting me now."

"I'm afraid we must. You've created an opportunity I would be a fool not to exploit."

Dumbledore raised his wand and Voldemort raised his own. His Killing Curse met Dumbledore's spell and magical energies collided violently. Voldemort backed away – in all his travels, he'd never heard of any magic capable of stopping the Killing Curse, outside of the kind of sacrifice Lily Potter had unknowingly employed. Mutual cancellation was a commonly encountered effect, but this? He wasn't going to risk battling Dumbledore on unfamiliar ground.

Enacting the perfected levitation, one of his greatest achievements, he took flight above the Hall of Prophecy, soaring away from the laboratory. Dumbledore now stood at the edge of the glass platform, and whatever he was preparing to do looked dangerous.

Voldemort paused, hovering, and assessed his options. He should be fleeing, but didn't dare expose his back – an opponent like Dumbledore would seize even the tiniest advantage.

Dumbledore raised his wand and a point of light appeared a little above its pointed tip. The point then then painted a shining circular band around the shaft, finally dipping towards the tip itself and Voldemort only had time to conjure a silver shield. Dumbledore's spell impacted with it with terrible strength, dissolving the shield into a swarm of brilliant sparkles, which promptly winked out. As the shield was disintegrating, Voldemort prepared his next move.

The platform split into the separate tiles, the breaks clean, perfectly straight, and the laboratory's equipment came crashing down between the high shelves. Having lost his footing, Dumbledore reacted blindingly fast, slowed his descent and landed gently on top one of the shelves, by which time Voldemort had directed the tiles to slam into place around him, entrapping his foe in a glass box. He placed an Unbreakable Charm on it, which held out long enough for him to increase distance from Dumbledore, but then came an attack from below.

A group of Aurors ran in the rows between shelves, aiming to curse him out of the air. Voldemort conjured another silver shield and the Aurors' spells brought a series of deep, gong-like tones out of it.

He saw Dumbledore's incoming spell out of the corner of his eye and flicked his wand. Nearing him, the spell curved neatly around him, its bent path taking it into the middle of the group of Aurors. On contact with the ground, it splashed into a golden mist. The Aurors it touched fell down, stumbling around, knocking into each other.

Several dark-robed figures shot up from among the shelves, landing on top of them in a rough circle around Voldemort and immediately opened up with curses. Unspeakables.

Voldemort rose higher – the Hall of Prophecy had no apparent ceiling – and, evading spells, he quickly wrote three runes in the air, his ink a thin line of fire. An appropriate charm combined the runes and he directed the hastily crafted spell downwards, spreading its energy over the area below him.

Prophecy orbs within a large radius exploded into innumerable tiny shards. The shelves, shredded beyond repair, started collapsing. The Aurors and Unspeakables were perforated by thousands of the shards piercing them right through, killing them instantly.

Dumbledore protected himself with a bubble-shaped shield; the shards passing through it turned to fine dust, which Dumbledore gathered into a cloud and banished at Voldemort. Before the cloud reached him, Dumbledore ignited it and the flame expanded into an enormous fireball. Voldemort released a torrent of fire, clashing with the fireball. As the opposing infernos met, his spell absorbed Dumbledore's and he reformed the fire into the shape of a basilisk, which shot back towards Dumbledore.

Yet more fire appeared above Dumbledore's head and his phoenix sailed out of it. Singing a soothing note, it shot inside the basilisk's mouth and Voldemort felt the control of the spell slipping from his grasp, the magic responding to a foreign touch. The basilisk looped around Dumbledore and back up, transforming into a giant firebird. The construct opened its mouth, revealing the phoenix. Intriguing, but fruitless. A well-aimed Killing Curse took Dumbledore's pet out of the fight.

Obscured from view by the dissipating fire, Voldemort plummeted down between the shelves, as close to the door leading out of the Hall as he could make it before Dumbledore attacked again.

The shelves around him, destroyed by his explosion, started twisting and contorting as Dumbledore's transfiguration turned them into dozens of thick, titanic tentacles. They fell with alarming speed, aiming to crush him alive. Smaller ones wriggled on the floor, like ropes to bind his feet.

Banishing charms repelled the assault easily enough, but just then more Unspeakables and Aurors rushed inside. Most of their spells splashed harmlessly against Dumbledore's transfigurations, but some were smart enough to try indirect magic. Panic bloomed at the back of Voldemort's mind – _he might not get out_ – but he crushed it with cold, cruel clarity as a possibility of escape made itself known.

Prophecy spectres, released from the destroyed orbs, still lingered, some more substantive than others. Voldemort reached out to them, summoning them closer and directing them inside the the mutilated bodies of dead Aurors. As the tentacles reared for another strike, the first of the marionettes rose to its feet, muttering a litany of prophetic predictions once enclosed in the orbs, a rudimentary mimic of an inferi.

Grinning coldly, Voldemort looked up at Dumbledore, now towering above him from his higher position, standing frozen, whether dumbstruck or appalled. Unspeakables stopped casting. The break in the battle lasted perhaps a few seconds, but it was all Voldemort needed.

The dead-men-walking Aurors launched themselves at the Unspeakables, Voldemort pointed his wand at the ground and, with a shield snapping into place, he blew the floor apart.

As if a volcano had erupted beneath his feet, the immediate area was obliterated, himself at the epicenter. He directed a part of the blast towards the door, carving a trench towards it straight through the ranks of dying Unspeakables and enacted flight again, shooting forward. Dumbledore's transfigurations survived the blast and moved with speed impossible for things so large, but Voldemort was well out of their reach.

As he crossed the threshold, he felt himself leaving the range of the enchantment that had rendered the medallion inert. Its suppressed magic hummed again and Voldemort apparated, the medallion taking him swiftly away from the Ministry.

~~oOo~~

The standoff couldn't have lasted more than a minute. Harry stood on bent knees, wand pointed at Mulciber, eyes flicking wildly between masked Death Eaters, though now that he looked at them, some appeared different. A good number of them wore no masks, instead relying on obscuring charms applied to their hoods. One of their group came forward towards Mulciber and, his wand still firmly trained on the enemy, said, "This isn't what was agreed."

His English was clear, but with an obvious accent. Harry bumped Sirius' shoulder.

"Mercenaries," Sirius mumbled, only enough for Harry to hear. "From the continent."

Mulciber ignored the other wizard's comment. "I'm not under Orders to kill you all. Give me Pettigrew and we'll leave. Don't be stupid, Sirius. Live to fight another day."

"Why do you want him back, anyway?" Sirius asked. "We already got what we wanted from him."

"Yes, you're a free man," Mulciber said mockingly. "I can't fathom why you bothered. You'll miss the thrill of evading the law."

"The thrill of fighting your boss is plenty enough."

Mulciber shook his head, sighing heavily. "We're done talking. Pettigrew, or you're dead. I'll get what I want either way."

"I'm terribly sorry, Jervis, but I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

Harry's gaze was drawn to the new arrival. He felt a wave of elation seeing Dumbledore casually stroll onto the clearing. The ring of Death Eaters hastily parted to make way for him, some of the wands now pointing in his direction. Dumbledore didn't seem at all worried, though the relaxed image he normally projected was absent.

Mulciber groaned in frustration and turned to Sirius. "Got a message off to him, did you? Played me for time. Clever. Well, in this case…"

He reached to his left forearm, but before he pressed a thumb to the Dark Mark, he froze in place, trapped by an invisible force. Harry looked back at Dumbledore.

 _He didn't even move!_

Dumbledore climbed up onto one of the fallen trees and turned around, his robes twirling. "You may summon Lord Voldemort and battle shall rage anew. If you do, many will leave here much worse off, or not at all. Is it worth it, in the end?"

Towering above everyone else, Dumbledore the Headmaster had changed into someone else entirely. Familiar, but different. Harder, less smooth – like an old sword left to rust in the ground, but still deadly years later. The air around him seemed to vibrate with power. Waves of it crashed into Harry, leaving him struggling to breathe. This was Dumbledore the warlock, Dumbledore who had defeated Grindelwald.

The foreign wizard said something in a language Harry didn't recognise and one by one, the mercenaries left, leaving large gaps in the ring of Death Eaters.

Mulciber had turned an unhealthy shade of red, teeth grinding against each other as he still struggled against the grip of Dumbledore's spell. Helpless, it seemed, but then, in an instant, something changed. Mulciber's body slacked as he released a primal roar. Dumbledore turned to him so quickly it seemed his neck would snap, but Mulciber was already moving again, with his unmistakable lethal precision.

Harry felt himself being pulled forward by a great force and before he could comprehend what had happened, he was pressed up against Mulciber with a wand at his throat and the Death Eater's heaving breath on his skin.

"Give. Me. Pettigrew," Mulciber said slowly. "And I'll go."

His face as if hewn from stone, Dumbledore nodded in Sirius' direction. "Give him what he wants, Sirius."

Peter was revived, pulled upright and pushed forward. Dazed, he made his way over to Mulciber. Harry watched the rat take uncertain steps and wanted to scream, but there was nothing he could do. His hands curled into fists and only then did he realise that he was still holding his wand.

His arm shot up before he made a conscious decision, the words were out of his mouth before his mind caught up with his body.

 _"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

The spell leapt out of his wand before anyone could react and struck Peter in the chest. He died looking at Harry, his expression one of surprise. Harry watched Peter fall on his back as if the world had slowed down to a crawl, his skin tingling with the touch of the spell's power.

Before Peter hit the ground, Mulciber disapparated with a crack, the other Death Eaters swiftly following. Dumbledore's magic dissipated and Harry sucked in a deep breath, eyes wide, the wand falling from numb fingers.

"Sirius." Dumbledore's voice shattered the silence, restoring the world to normal speed. "Please escort Harry safely to London."

The senior Auror present shook himself out of the short-lived trance. "No, he's going with us. He just killed Peter Pettigrew!"

The Auror went for his wand, but Remus grabbed his wrist and twisted it cruelly. The Auror yelped in pain.

Sirius grabbed his shoulder roughly and Harry felt the pull of apparition. Just before they left, he caught a glimpse of Dumbledore raising his wand towards the Aurors.

They landed in the backyard of Grimmauld Place Twelve. Sirius turned to him, his face blank.

"The point of no return, Harry," he said, and went inside.

Harry slid down to the ground, his back against the wall, looking up at the overcast sky. It was probably going to rain soon.

Peter Pettigrew was dead by his hand. One debt repaid. Two more yet to be settled. He waited for euphoria, the warm glow of satisfaction and accomplishment, but he just felt stiff, like he was going to turn to stone, become a garden fixture. There was no satisfaction, no regret, no reward, no punishment. Nothing at all – only a void, and no sign that it meant anything.

~~oOo~~

The Aurors were left to assess the aftermath of the battle, their memories altered to indicate Mulciber as Peter's killer. Kingsley had done some of his best work for the Order in convincing Scrimgeour not to pursue their members concerning the day's events. With Fudge under their thumb and Crouch on their side, the matter was effectively swept under the proverbial rug as well as could be managed.

Of course, not all news was good.

Dumbledore's revelation about Voldemort's presence in the Ministry and the ensuing battle was met with varying degrees of shock. The resulting death of Algernon Croaker even more so. With one of their most important allies in the Ministry eliminated, the future cooperation of the Department of Mysteries was uncertain. The Department enjoyed a degree of autonomy that meant it was tied to the rest of the Ministry in only the most superficial of ways.

The Order was convened that evening, once those who had fought Mulciber's force were attended to and the initial mess sorted out. Sirius walked into the kitchen greeted by grim faces and uncertain glances. If he were to guess, Dumbledore had already told them the truth about Peter's death.

He was relieved to see Sturgis and Remus there. They didn't have to say a word, their support was implicit, it seemed. He expected it from Remus, but Sturgis was a surprise. Overlooked by most of the Order, the Hit-wizard had become a mentor to Harry in ways Sirius didn't entirely comprehend. Sirius was secretly glad for it. Clearly, Sturgis had found a common ground with Harry. Whatever their personal differences, he trusted that Sturgis was on Harry's side, even if his allegiance to the Order itself was less firm.

"I'm glad you could join us, Sirius," said Dumbledore.

"What's left on the agenda?" Sirius asked. There were empty chairs left, but he'd rather stand.

"Only one more thing." Dumbledore looked at Sturgis, drawing everyone's attention to the Hit-wizard. "You aided Harry in carrying out a murder."

Sturgis didn't reply.

"Harry came to you and instead of alerting someone, you agreed to help him… Deceived Miss Tonks along the way."

Sturgis still kept silent, arms crossed, returning Dumbledore's stern look with a stony one of his own.

"Can you tell us why?"

"Oh, pardon me, Headmaster," Sturgis said at last. "I thought you were just telling us what everyone already knew."

"You encouraged Harry-"

"Not true," Sturgis interrupted. "He needed no encouragement. I just helped him carry out his plan."

"How could you?" Now, all eyes turned to Molly. She was looking at Sturgis with a mixture of hurt and disgust. It was no secret she had all but claimed Harry as a seventh son. "It doesn't matter what he said to you. You shouldn't have turned him into a _killer."_

"You paint all killers with the same brush," Sturgis retorted. "Look around – there are enough killers in this room. Peter Pettigrew wasn't the first casualty and he won't be the last."

"Why the sudden investment in the cause?" asked Doge. "I didn't take you for a strong believer."

"You didn't ask," Sturgis replied, the ghost of a smirk bending his mouth. "Harry is in the middle of this and the war won't wait for him. I find guiding him to be a worthy enough cause. Believe this, if nothing else."

Sirius approached the table and leaned on it with both hands, bent over the tabletop, straight across from Dumbledore. "And this is the key issue, isn't it?"

Immediately, all eyes were on him and he felt exposed. He bowed his head, collecting his thoughts behind the curtain of his too-long hair. The kitchen was plunged into a profound silence, marred only by quiet breathing and the scratching of chairs on the floor. He straightened himself and moved to stand behind Molly's chair, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Since the beginning… not the summer – since the Order's foundation – there have been two major positions taken by most of the members."

He moved away from Molly and started a slow walk around the table, passing more people, looking at each of their faces, one by one.

"The dominant one has been championed by this organisation's founder," Sirius said, pausing to look up at Dumbledore and raised his hand to point him out. "The Headmaster argues for diplomacy, securing outside alliances, infiltration… Bending the rules, yes, but avoiding open conflict if at all possible. I understand it. I admire it, even, on some level. And for a time, this approach worked superbly."

Having gone around to Dumbledore's side of the table, Sirius stopped in front of the older wizard, meeting the blue eyes without hesitation. Dumbledore made no attempt to interrupt him, apparently just as intrigued as everyone else to hear him out. Sirius obliged.

"But, friends… the circumstances have changed. Whether we want it or not, the existence of the prophecy places Harry in the centre of the conflict. He will always be Voldemort's primary target, moreso now that he's shown that he can fight back. Harry isn't just a target anymore, he's a threat. Now, don't misunderstand me – I am not thrilled about what he's had to do, but I understand why he did it and I stand by him."

"Sirius, no one is condemning Harry-" began Doge.

"I disagree," Sirius protested. "This is exactly what's happening. You _are_ condemning him for what he chose to do. The truth is that Peter deserved to die. If it had been me who killed him, none of you would be condemning me."

"Do you approve, then?" Kingsley rose from his chair, his tone challenging. "Of murder?"

"Don't twist my words, Kingsley," Sirius shot back. "Do you think I revel in thinking that Harry has killed? I'm not going to applaud this, but I understand. Voldemort's choices were just as big a factor in shaping Harry into who he is as Harry's own actions are. Fight the war however you choose, but I will not suffer your misguided righteousness in my own house. I stand with my godson… And that's all I have to say to you."

With that, he left the kitchen. He wanted to talk to Harry, but by Merlin, he needed a drink first. The living room was empty, thankfully.

"Do you mind some company?"

Remus and Sturgis came in, followed by Tonks.

"Not at all," Sirius said. "How do you take your whiskey?"

"I'll pass," Remus muttered.

"Ice," said Sturgis.

"I'll have what you're having," added Tonks.

Kreacher served the drinks and the four of them sat for a while in companionable silence. Sirius stirred the Firewhiskey in his glass.

"How'd the others take your leaving?"

"Silently," said Tonks, slumping into her chair.

"You spoke for all of us," said Remus. "It's a horror of war, when children are involved… What choice do we have but to help them as best we can?"

Sirius could have sworn Remus wasn't talking about Harry just then.

 _Is this about the girl, Remus? Sally?_

He didn't ask out loud, but with each second he became increasingly convinced he had guessed right. Remus had never been one for sharing, but it was plain as day. A young werewolf, running from Greyback? Nothing else could have put Remus in this funk.

"Sturgis," he said after a long while.

"Yes?"

"How did it happen? All that… with Harry."

The Hit-wizard shook his head. "No."

"What? What do you-"

Sturgis turned his grey eyes on him, brow creased. "You made a big speech for Harry. So, trust him."

"I just-"

"No," Sturgis repeated, louder this time. "What happened is between Harry and I. If he wants to tell you, fine… But don't press him for answers. I know you want to see James in him, but Harry's a very different person from his father. You need to accept that."

As much as he wanted to argue, Sirius swallowed his words. Sturgis was right, damn him. Harry wasn't James, or Lily, or something in between. What Harry was would probably terrify his parents… but Sirius understood, or at least he wanted to believe he did. Glancing at Sturgis again, he wrestled with the uncomfortable realisation that the Hit-wizard, of all people, may understand Harry better than anyone else in the room.

"As you said, Sirius…"

The four of them jumped, hearing Harry's voice. He stood in the middle of the room, still bearing the marks of battle; cuts and bruises, the dirt and clothes ravaged by spellfire. The Cloak hanging from shoulders, however, was as spotless as it had ever been. Nothing could touch it, it seemed.

"...the point of no return. I've made my peace with that."

"Here," Sturgis muttered, throwing Harry his wand. "You left it behind there."

"Thanks."

No one protested when Harry joined them and poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey. Instead of drinking it, however, he nursed the glass in his lap for a while and eventually put it away. He looked up. Sirius met his gaze.

Harry nodded. Sirius returned the gesture. No words were needed.

 _Whatever happens… I'm on your side, Harry._

~~oOo~~

The ballroom had been turned into the Dark Lord's personal laboratory. He had previously used the study upstairs, but his interest had now turned to larger-scale projects. The large, double doors had been replaced with a smaller, single one, much easier to ward against intrusion.

The door opened, revealing Macnair's annoyingly handsome face. He'd aged even better than Father. Draco used to take his comments about bathing in the blood of beasts he slew for demented humour. Now, he wasn't so sure. The Dark Lord had a talent for attracting the extremely violent types. Macnair, with his ridiculous silver axe, Greyback, the Butcher – all cut from the same blood-soaked cloth.

Draco entered into a room that looked nothing like the stately reception hall it used to be. The windows were gone, as was the crystal chandelier. The laboratory was dim, illuminated by a ring of pale glowrunes on the ceiling. The walls were lined with still mostly empty shelves – clearly, the Dark Lord was only beginning to rebuild his stock.

The Inner Circle stood in the middle of the room. The Dark Lord stood behind a large worktable. Behind him floated a three-dimensional array of small disks in varying sizes. Runes, words, symbols and diagrams were etched into their surface. The disks slowly spun and changed position in a slow dance, but the pattern was clearly repeating itself.

Draco took his place in the half-circle on Father's right. He didn't like the implication that he was Lucius Malfoy's right hand, still a subordinate of someone other than the Dark Lord, but he grit his teeth and said nothing. He was the youngest and newest member of the Dark Lord's finest. He would put in the effort to earn recognition. At thirteen, they were still one short. Draco hoped the Dark Lord would fill Rosier's old spot soon – then he wouldn't be the rookie anymore.

"We are almost all here, now," the Dark Lord said, not bothering to look up from his work.

Draco almost jolted. This seemed too good to be true.

There was a knock and Macnair went to open the door again. Draco looked over his shoulder and balked, wishing this _wasn't_ true. The Dark Lord couldn't mean to appoint _her._

"Welcome to the Inner Circle, dear," said the Dark Lord, his cold smile confirming Draco's suspicion. For a fleeting moment he seriously contemplated contesting this appointment, going against the Dark Lord's will. She wasn't worthy! Her very presence made him feel sullied. In an instant, the Inner Circle had become stained with filth.

"Draco," the Dark Lord asked, looking at him. "Is there something on your mind?"

Swallowing, he bowed his head respectfully. "No, my lord."

"Then we can begin." The Dark Lord clapped his hands. "Until now, our operations have been scattered, lacking a centralised direction. We have come far in the past months, but now comes the time to expand our influence. To this end, in the near future each of you shall receive a task suited to your strengths. Some will walk away empty-handed tonight. You shall make yourselves available at my convenience."

The small crowd stirred in anticipation. Draco refused to believe he was the only one bothered by _her_ inclusion in the Circle. Father had to be boiling inside, but he was wise enough to remain silent. It was probably the smart thing to do. Draco could bring up the issue once his position was cemented.

"Severus, your job remains unchanged. Bring me what you find out from Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. I am particularly interested in anything you can find out about Potter."

"Potter is learning Occlumency, my lord," said Snape. "He was being tutored by Black-"

 _"Which_ Black?"

Draco could imagine the grimace that marred Snape's face just then. His contempt for Sirius Black was palpable even through the mask.

"Sirius, my lord."

"Continue."

"Black has failed as a teacher and Potter's instruction in this matter has been transferred to me. It presents an opportunity-"

"You will teach him as Dumbledore expects you to, Severus."

"My lord?"

The Dark Lord looked up, his red eyes flashing with hidden malevolence. "You will not risk antagonising Dumbledore. Potter has grown too skilled to be easily fooled. Previous instruction from Black, even if subpar, will have taught him what to expect from a competent teacher. Learn what you can, but my previous orders regarding Potter stand. He's not to be touched until I tell you otherwise."

Snape took excruciatingly long to accept his orders. "I understand, my lord," he said, nodding curtly.

"Draco." The Dark Lord turned to him now. "You will resume your previous duties in overseeing Theodore's mission at Hogwarts. You will meet twice a week, at a time of his choosing. He must not be compromised."

"Yes, my lord."

The Dark Lord dispensed more assignments. As far as Draco could tell, most simply expanded the scope of previous orders. Greyback was to reach out to werewolves in Germany. Macnair would be leaving to negotiate with giant tribes in Eastern Europe. Rookwood and Dolohov would continue their infiltration of the Ministry, Rookwood among the Unspeakables, Dolohov working his way up to the Minister's office. Interestingly, all three Lestranges were going to Romania, to establish relations with local vampires. Carrows, assisting the Dark Lord with his research – Draco was sorely tempted to volunteer for this as well, ready to argue that he could still handle Nott, but held back. He didn't have the clout yet to step out of line. For the foreseeable future, his course was to do what was ordered and keep his mouth shut.

He was tested again when the Dark Lord announced Father's mission to France.

"The International Confederation of Wizards is to convene in Paris in several weeks' time. You will use this opportunity to asses the state of our financial affairs with your cousin," the Dark Lord said. "I've received information that Sylvestre has been successfully lobbied for a personal invitation. Vilhelm Nott shall accompany you."

"My lord, I assure you I can-"

The Dark Lord paused in the assembly of an arithmantic apparatus. Immediately, the atmosphere in the room had become so thick Macnair could have hung his axe right in the air.

"I- will make sure to include Vilhelm in all dealings," Father said, his tone obliging. The Dark Lord resumed the assembly, his fingers nimbly turning the array of parts into a single object.

It was Mulciber's task that sparked Draco's interest the most.

"Jervis… You will leave immediately and find Elizer Agrattsi, wherever in Italy he's hiding. I expect you won't be searching for long. I can't imagine he's far from his estate...if he's ever bothered to leave it at all."

"What will I tell him?"

The last part had been put into place and the Dark Lord took out his wand. With a spiral-like swish, he etched a rune into the base of the device. The tiny mark carved itself in silver and lit up with a slowly pulsating light, casting a pale glow on the table and the tools scattered on it.

"What we've previously discussed. If he resists, tell him that I would be _very_ annoyed to have to pay a personal visit when I've sent a prestigious envoy. Tell him that if he doesn't assist you in finding Hessberg, I shall erase whatever's left of his legacy until there is nothing but scorched ash and broken glass." The Dark Lord looked up, his face cold. "Tell him _exactly_ that."

"I will."

Mulciber left, but no one else had been explicitly dismissed, so they remained where they had been standing.

"Fenrir, there is also the matter of your young wolf…"

Greyback grunted in a way that make Draco distinctly uncomfortable. "I'll, er, _dispose_ o'her properly."

He shouldn't have kept silent, but the words were out of his mouth before he consciously decided whether he was going to say them. "Could I keep her?"

The Dark Lord's reaction didn't extend beyond a twitch of his lip, but it was a clear signal to other that they had permission to ridicule Draco. Greyback laughed the loudest – his deep belly-laugh was like being poured over a porous stone. Even Father didn't spare him, though he had the courtesy to limit himself to a quiet chuckle, lost in the greater commotion.

"What do you think, Fenrir?" the Dark Lord asked, his tone now friendly, with a hint of amusement. "Is there enough left of her?"

"Oh, definitely," the werewolf said, still roaring. "We can fix 'er right up if the boy wants to dip his wand in."

They thought he was asking for a _sex slave._ As if he would ever deign to sully himself with thing such as her.

"You laugh with everyone else, Father," Draco said, steeling himself. "Perhaps you would lower yourself to taste mudblood flesh, but I wouldn't betray my blood like this."

The laughter died just as quickly as it had started. Lucius raised his hand to strike him, but Draco was prepared. At a flick of his wrist, a thin knife slid into his palm and he rammed it into Father's abdomen. The elder Malfoy sank to his knees, grunting in pain. Draco lashed out, catching Father up the chin with his knee. He fell onto his back as blood soaked his robes around the wound. Draco summoned the knife back, prompting another yelp of pain from Father.

"If this is the standard you set, then it's time for a change in leadership for the Malfoys, _Father."_

Exhilarated, Draco had momentarily forgotten where he was who was watching. He turned to the Dark Lord expecting to be cursed, but no punishment came.

Father reached for his wand, but Draco, his own wand already in hand, disarmed him, summoned the wand and dropped it on the floor, where the snapped it in two with his heel.

"Pick yourself up, Lucius, and get out. Now, Draco – it seems we have misread your intentions regarding the girl."

"I conduct potions research, my lord. Several of my projects are entering a test stage," Draco said, standing straight. "A werewolf test subject could prove very useful. With your permission, my lord, I-"

"No."

All heads turned to Greyback. Draco met his gaze defiantly. The monster had no qualms killing his own kind, but Merlin forbid they be made useful beyond failing to catch Sirius Black. What a hypocrite.

"I would take good care of her, Greyback," Draco said. "She'd be no use to me dead."

Macnair stepped around Greyback and came closer, laid a hand on Draco's shoulder. It was a simple gesture of support, but now Greyback was outnumbered. No one seemed eager to take his side.

"Draco's idea has merit. Why throw away good meat?" the Dark Lord said. "She's yours. You are all dismissed. And Fenrir…"

Greyback stopped mid-step.

"I would hate to learn the girl went missing before Draco could claim her."

Greyback gave no indication that he acknowledged the order or the implicit threat and stormed out of the room.

Outside in the hall, Macnair pulled Draco aside. "Well done, Draco. Greyback needs to be put in his place sometimes."

"I wasn't planning on having to do it," Draco said, sheathing the wand and the knife. "Turned out for the best. Speaking of threatening Greyback, though… he's always been apprehensive of you."

Macnair's smile could crack a mirror. "My axe is _silver."_


	23. CHAPTER SEVEN: Sundering, Part 3

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Sundering**

 **Part 3**

"Really? You need to stand in this precise spot?" Sirius asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

The goblin merely looked on smugly.

"That's the third time you've demanded that I move."

"Let it go, Sirius," said Sturgis. He was sitting on a stool with his back to the bar, leaning on his elbows. He'd charmed his drink – a terribly unmanly (in Sirius' opinion), yellow concoction with a straw – to float up to his mouth on command. "He's just going to keep staring until you give up."

With a resigned sigh, Sirius moved to a different stool. The goblin made a show of standing where Sirius had been and looking at the cracked ceiling through a spyglass-like device. Mallory's goblin contractors had erected a multi-storey scaffolding and a group of them were hard at work repairing the damage inflicted by Draco Malfoy's bombs.

"I'm pretty sure he's doing that on purpose," Sirius muttered, stealing a resentful glance at the goblin supervisor, who walked by, elbowing Sirius in the leg. "Hey!"

"Of course he is. No self-respecting goblin would miss an opportunity to harass a wizard."

"He's not harassing you," Sirius pointed out.

"Because he knows better," Sturgis replied.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Sturgis took another sip of his yellow drink. "I got him the job. Goblin engineers aren't exactly in high demand right now."

"Is there any place you _don't_ know people?" Sirius asked, somewhat impressed.

"I strive to keep that number as low as possible."

Sirius took a long look at the other goblins. Contrary to their boss, they kept to themselves and their work, toiling away with unmistakable goblin precision. Sirius supposed they _were_ lucky to snag this contract. While there had been no further fighting since the riot in Diagon, the tensions between the British wizards and goblins remained high. Marcus Plateau had done his best to honour the Ministry's outstanding debts, which had kept peace for months, but who knew when Gringotts would decide it wasn't enough.

"Ugh… Goblins," Sirius said.

"Indeed."

Mallory came by and Sirius laid out the coin for a second Butterbeer. Sturgis' refill of the yellow abomination came free of charge.

"Why doesn't he have to pay?"

Mallory gave him a flirtatious wink. "Sturgis did me a big favour. Do that, and we'll revisit the topic of free drinks."

"It's not like you don't have money," Sirius grumbled.

"I'm well-off, not filthy rich like _some_ people," said Sturgis, looking at him pointedly. "I work hard for my money and I haven't been able to work for months because of this war business."

Sirius shrugged and turned his attention to the bottle. For a while they sat in companionable silence, drinking. Sirius' gaze wandered about, not drawn to anything in particular.

"The others should be arriving soon," he said eventually, placing the empty bottle on the bar. "We have a few minutes still… I wanted to say something."

Sturgis turned to look at him, amusement lighting up his eyes. "Oh? Is it going to be _that_ kind of conversation? I thought we had something special."

"You're not entirely wrong, in a tangential sort of way." Sirius cleared his throat. "I owe you for being a friend to Harry, in a way I couldn't be."

"You don't owe me anything, Sirius. I don't do things for other people – only for myself."

"However you want to look at it… thank you."

Sturgis inclined his head. "If you must."

"I was thinking…"

"That _is_ a surprise."

"That joke was old twenty years ago," Sirius shot back. "But jokes aside, I found time to reflect on some things in between everything else that's been going on. This isn't easy for me to say, but I think… I may have judged you too harshly, way back when."

Sturgis turned to him, suddenly serious. "Is this about-"

"Yes."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Sirius, but I wasn't at fault there. He made his own choices. I doubt I could have stopped him."

Sirius put up a hand. "I was going to say that I agree. Regardless of what happened between you, that choice was his. So… I am sorry."

Sirius bore Sturgis' gaze through the long moment of silence that followed.

"Alright," said the Hit-wizard, "I accept your apology."

"Thank you."

"Let's not talk about this. I'm not keen on revisiting those memories."

Thankfully, the impending awkwardness was shooed away by the arrival of four wizards they had been waiting for. Dumbledore walked in first, followed by Crouch, Plateau and the newest member of the circle of conspirators, the recently appointed Chief Unspeakable. Saul Croaker took over the Department of Mysteries after his late uncle's death in the battle with Voldemort. With the right application of pressure, the Prophet had been discouraged from drawing too much attention to that particular calamity.

Mallory directed them to a booth, one of several that had been repaired so far. The bench expanded to fit all six of them comfortably. Sirius made a point to sit as far away from Dumbledore as possible. Not as ostentatious as saying it out loud, but he wanted to drive home the point that he and the Headmaster now disagreed on more than they didn't.

"Gentlemen," said Dumbledore. "Thank you all for agreeing to meet on short notice. There are pressing matters to discuss. Barty, would you-"

Plateau gave a loud, long-suffering sigh. Sirius shot him an unappreciative look. This one had always seemed a little soft to him. Dark shades under bloodshot eyes, a quivering eyebrow and downcast gaze created a rather pitiful image.

"Lucius Malfoy is killing me," said Plateau.

"I'd be more worried about the wife," Sturgis muttered.

Sirius snorted at the comment. Plateau didn't seem to have heard it.

"He keeps inventing new ways to move money, the entire Department is busy working to counter him, but he's faster than all of my people. And on top of _that,_ the goblins-"

"We all have the utmost confidence in you, Marcus," said Crouch, his tone dismissive. "Algernon's loss has hit us hard. Don't take this the wrong way, Saul, but your uncle has worked with us since the beginning and he was a powerful player in the Ministry. You yourself are mostly unknown outside the Department."

Croaker gave no indication if he did, in fact, take Crouch's words the wrong way. Or any way, really. He sat completely straight-backed, face blank, content to observe. He possessed a certain creepy quality that inexorably drew the eye. Sirius had been watching Saul for a good few minutes now and he was almost entirely certain Croaker hadn't blinked once.

"We've suffered a heavy blow, gentlemen," said Crouch, lowering his voice, where he usually spoke loudly and clearly, no matter what was being discussed. Sirius noticed a sad note in Crouch's voice and was reminded that this seasoned politician wasn't as friendless as he seemed. He and old Croaker had climbed the ranks together, back when Crouch was still an Auror.

"How many dead?" asked Sturgis.

It was Saul Croaker who answered. "Six Unspeakables, counting Algernon. Eleven Aurors in the Department of Mysteries, including Captain Laszlo Savage. Another nineteen in the battle at the shore. Counting the losses from Azkaban, the Auror forces have been reduced by a quarter," Saul recited, his voice perfectly even, as though he were reading from a grocery list.

Sirius flinched. He preferred psychopaths with emotions. At least with Mulciber one could tell he was human.

"One good thing did come out of this," Crouch continued. "Rufus seems to have abandoned his plans to challenge Cornelius, so the Minister's position is still more or less secure. He's placed a bid for the Chief Warlock of Wizengamot instead. Selwyn was most displeased."

"How does this change things?" asked Dumbledore. "Should we move to counter him?"

"It would be a waste of political capital," Crouch said. "We've no suitable candidate of our own, and in truth, the Wizengamot could do worse than Rufus Scrimgeour. It may play right into our hands. Our goals ultimately align. What happens after Voldemort is eliminated is of considerably less concern."

"You didn't think about trying for the highest office again?" asked Sirius. He couldn't entirely rid his tone of a suspicious edge.

The look Crouch gave him carried no sign of humility. His son's death had rid him of whatever he'd had left of it. "Allies or not, I don't rightly care if you believe me, Mr. Black. I'm comfortable where I am. Rufus can be Minister if he wants to. He won't dare to try and remove me."

Dumbledore stepped in then and steered the conversation back on the right track. Sirius felt just fine challenging Crouch this once. Old wounds healed slowly.

Crouch put his hands together, fingers interlocking and cast a serious glance about the booth. "I have received word from acquaintances in the French Ministry that the International Confederation of Wizards is preparing a special summons for us."

"Something tells me we won't like this," Sturgis muttered, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Several persons are going to be explicitly named. Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Harry Potter."

Sirius perked up at hearing Harry's name. Himself and Dumbledore he could understand, but what could the ICW possibly want from a fifteen year old kid? He knew Harry had grown beyond his years, but the Confederation didn't. Strange requests on part of the ICW weren't without precedent, but this had to rank fairly high.

Crouch anticipated the questions. "From what I can tell, the Confederation has taken a keen interest in the recent events in Britain and Mr. Potter has been at the centre of them, thanks in large part to the Daily Prophet having made him their regular joke last summer. I don't believe he will be required to testify in front of the Confederation, but clearly, they want him there for something."

"A summons, you said… Is the Confederation insisting, or merely lodging a request?" asked Dumbledore, frowning as he looked up somewhere above Sirius' head.

"They're demanding," said Crouch. "No doubt, some interested parties are aiming to inform themselves about our internal conflict. That is not all. Sylvestre Malfoy has been named as a special representative on behalf of another party, one not from France."

"Of course, that's Voldemort's play," Sirius declared. "He's sending some old-money aristocrat that French Lucius will introduce. Could be Lucius himself."

"I don't believe so."

Dumbledore's eyebrows furrowed in a frown. "What makes you say that, Barty?"

"Lucius Malfoy is on an official list. He's not hiding. He's already in, he doesn't need a sponsor."

"Then who-" Sirius began, but paused mid-sentence as another possibility occurred to him. By the looks on the others' faces, he wasn't the only one thinking it. "No, that's… _ludicrous."_

"Perhaps. Also devilishly smart, if it works," Sturgis countered.

Sirius shook his head. "What would he even say?"

"Civil war," Saul jumped in suddenly. "Internal British matter. Struggle of _political_ factions. Confederation has no mandate to interfere, only observe."

"That's bonkers," Sirius argued.

"But not untrue," Saul retorted. "With clever rhetoric, a case could be made for it. Voldemort is certainly capable of such."

"Hold your bloody thestrals!" Sirius barked. "This is all guesswork. Voldemort is _not_ going to make a _personal appearance_ at the-" He didn't finish, because with each word he heard himself say, the idea bizarrely seemed less outlandish. It would be a _bold_ move – exactly something Voldemort would do. If the international community could be convinced to leave Britain alone, Voldemort could operate openly, without fear of foreign governments coming to his enemies' aid.

"Look on the bright side," said Sturgis, his cheerful tone terribly out of place. "It'll be one interesting conference."

~~oOo~~

The Daily Prophet had dashed Harry's hopes of not returning to Hogwarts the primary object of gossip. Voldemort had broken into the Department of Mysteries and dueled Dumbledore, but to his misfortune, the morning of his return featured a headline that had the students talking about Harry again.

HARRY POTTER NAMED IN ICW SUMMONS

Overnight, he had become a political figure, and no one had seen fit to tell him about it.

Though there were a brave few who approached him – and he did his best to be friendly - most students preferred to keep a safe distance. McLaggen's misadventure with Harry's trunk was making rounds in the Great Hall again. He wasn't even upset when the first accusations came. "You're a dark wizard, _Potter."_ Harry just smiled inwardly. Zach Smith had no idea how right he was. Harry wasn't keen on admitting it though. The rumours already flying around were enough of a bother.

He sat down next to Ginny at the Gryffindor table. Ron and Hermione sat opposite her, as had become a custom for them, but Harry noticed they sat further apart than usual.

"So," he said by way of greeting, "who's replaced Umbridge?"

"Oh, that's an interesting one." Ron waved his fork in the direction of the staff table. "See the wizard next to McGonagall?"

Harry frowned. "Snape sits next to her. Are you saying-"

"No, the other one."

Surprised, Harry looked, even though he knew the answer already. Professor McGonagall sat between Snape and Dumbledore. "No way."

"It's only for a few weeks, then Moody's going to take over, but having Dumbledore teach us even for a short time... I was sure Hermione was about to start a riot we he announced it. Ouch!"

Hermione unrolled her copy of the Prophet. "You deserved it."

Ron rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

"Harry," Hermione said. "Professor McGonagall is going to ask you about your trunk."

"I can't imagine why she'd want to. It's a standard model. Not much to talk about."

 _"Harry."_

"Yes, Hermione?"

"You know what I mean."

"Of course I do. McLaggen should have kept his hands to himself. It's not like this hadn't happened before. An Auror tried to take my trunk once. He was attacked, you know. My trunk seems to smite those who would intrude upon it."

"Don't make a joke out of this."

Ron put down his fork and stood up. "Merlin's pants, look at the time. We'll be late for Potions."

Hermione glared at him, but gathered her bag and left the table first. The look she gave Harry clearly said 'we're not done'.

Ginny grabbed his hand. "Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"We know."

Harry swallowed his next witty retort. "Which part?"

"All of it. Sirius told us. He's worried about you, and so are we."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Ginny interrupted him.

"Harry, you _killed Peter Pettigrew."_

He leaned in, his smile sliding off his face like water. "Later."

"When?" She wouldn't let go of his hand.

"Tonight," he said. A half-hearted promise, but it would do for now.

In Potions class, Snape went out of his way to avoid coming near him. At first, Harry thought he was imagining it, but when he and Ron very nearly botched their potion, Snape didn't seem to even notice. Fortunately, the mistake happened early into the brewing, so they had time to start again and Snape still didn't say a word. Only at the end of class, he announced to the room, "Potter, your performance this year has fallen below even your usual abysmal standard."

Harry froze while corking his sample of the potion for grading. "Yes, sir."

"Your acknowledgement of this fact gladdens me, but it won't help you with the OWL exam." There was just as much venom in the Potion Master's voice as there had ever been, but his look wasn't the condescending glare Harry was used to. "You will see me tonight to arrange private instruction. You're enough of an embarrassment to this school as it is. You _will_ scrape a pass in June, even if I have to dedicate my valuable time to this unworthy goal."

Harry played along, assuming an expression of barely held back disgust. "Yes, Professor."

As Hermione had said, he was asked to remain behind after Transfiguration, his last class of the day. Professor McGonagall didn't move from her desk.

"How has your first day back been, Potter?"

"Well enough."

"You're the only student I've asked this question so many times in a single year."

Harry tried to sound apologetic. "I don't know what you want me to say, Professor."

She looked on sternly from below the brim of her tiara. "I would like you to promise me that you will disentangle yourself from anything going on outside of the school and focus on your studies, which should be the pinnacle of worries for someone your age."

"You know I can't do that, Professor."

"Yes. You can't possibly imagine how much I wish you could." She looked down at the desk and for a long moment, neither of them spoke again. There was an atmosphere of regret in the room that settled heavily on Harry's shoulders. Right then, Professor McGonagall didn't look like a teacher, though he couldn't say who exactly he was seeing sitting behind the desk.

"Your trunk, Potter."

"Yes?"

"Don't ever do it again."

"What if-"

"If anyone is foolish enough to try again after what you did to Mr. McLaggen, you will bring the matter to me."

"Or I could just hex them."

"For Merlin's sake, Potter!" she exclaimed and bolted up from the chair. Harry flinched. He'd never seen her move so fast and never heard her raise her voice like this. She came closer, leaning down over him. "I was at Hogwarts with Tom Riddle and I daresay I was one of the few who saw him for what he was." She pulled up a chair. "Has Professor Dumbledore told you about him? What he was like as a student?"

"No, Professor," Harry said quietly, taken aback at the outburst.

"You know that his father was a muggle, yes? He told you, at the cemetery?"

Harry nodded. How did she know that?

"He murdered his father and both his grandparents the summer before his last year at Hogwarts. When he came back, he was no longer Tom Riddle, though he was still called that. That year, he became Lord Voldemort. Don't follow in his footsteps. Don't become like him."

She stood and, moving tiredly, returned to her desk, where she busied herself with a stack of essays waiting to be graded. "You may go, Potter." She said nothing else and, though Harry sat there in silence, watching her work for a good few minutes, she paid him no more mind. Somewhat stunned, Harry eventually gathered his things and left, taking care to close the door as quietly as possible.

Professor McGonagall had been at Hogwarts with _Voldemort?_ It was strange enough to think of her as a student, stranger still to imagine her in class with Tom Riddle. How come he'd never seen her in Voldemort's memories? Or perhaps he had, but didn't recognise her?

She was the second person to have known Tom Riddle personally who told him he was becoming like Riddle. It was easier to ignore when Dumbledore said it – the Headmaster often seemed more alien than familiar. Sometimes he seemed to exist in a reality not quite the same as everyone else's, as if he was peeking into theirs through a translucent membrane. A wizard not of this world, eluding common understanding. Somehow, Riddle seemed more… solid. Grounded. Perhaps it was because of the connection. Harry didn't have insight into the mind of Albus Dumbledore. Voldemort, strangely, was both more and less sinister, but at least him Harry thought he could hope to understand. Voldemort _wanted_ things. Voldemort was fallible. As much as he wanted to be more than that, Voldemort was human. Dumbledore was more legend, myth, than man.

Professor McGonagall was one of the most human, _real,_ people he knew and she warned him not to become like Voldemort.

Thankfully, Snape didn't expect much from him that night. He made him copy all seven pages of instructions for the potion line by line, presented the next day's dose and sent him on his way.

"You're no good for Occlumency tonight. If I tried to look inside your head now, I might just drive myself insane. Be ready to start work tomorrow, Potter. Otherwise I may _forget_ to give you your potion."

"Yes, Professor."

McGonagall's words nagged at him for the rest of the week, though he did his best not to show it. Professor McGonagall made no further attempt to bring up the subject, nor did she acknowledge their conversation ever having taken place.

Ron left him well enough alone and said nothing even while they were in the Chamber of Secrets, tossing curses at each other. Hermione seemed torn between wanting to say something and not wanting to pry. Ginny accepted his excuses for delaying the promised talk until the weekend. By Friday, he could tell she would accept them no longer and in truth, he was tired of making them. That night, he'd sneaked out to the Shrieking Shack and called Grimmauld Place by Floo. Remus answered and promised to pass on the message to Sirius.

"Remus, are you alright?"

The werewolf looked more haggard than Harry was used to seeing him and looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"I'm fine, Harry. I've been working late on something. Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."

"You should get one, then."

Remus gave a tired smile. "Not yet, but soon. I have to do something first. Go back to the castle."

Ron, Ginny and Hermione met him in the Chamber of Secrets at the agreed hour. Harry had arrived earlier and sent the basilisk away to the lake.

"Take a seat, guys. Sirius is on his way."

While waiting, Harry had picked out several loose pieces of stone from the tunnel and transfigured them into a pair of sofas and a third into a brazier on a tripod, in which he'd placed a Bluebell Flame.

"This is a nice setup, Harry," Ron muttered, collapsing onto one of the sofas next to Hermione. "Where are the marshmallows?"

Hermione elbowed him in the side, though without enthusiasm.

"You know I appreciate your humour, Ron," Harry said. "But this is going to be one of those nights…"

"No jokes, then?"

With a sigh, Harry nodded. "It's going to be hard enough already."

Just then, he heard a distant staccato of footsteps on the stone and Sirius came into view at the Chamber's entrance. Harry saw his smile disappear as he approached.

"I had hoped Remus was wrong about the impression he got from you," he said. "Ginny, Ron, Hermione. Everything alright with you three?"

Harry waited until the others exchanged greetings and Sirius sat down. He took a deep breath.

"I don't know how this is going to take," he began, stuffing his hands into pockets. "I don't have a script for this. I'm just going to talk, and I imagine you'll have a lot of questions… But please, keep them until I'm finished."

He paused and stared into the Bluebell Flames, looking for the right words to start, wondering again if perhaps he shouldn't have invited Dumbledore as well. He shook off that thought right away. He had committed to doing this, but Dumbledore was a separate matter. There was no one he trusted more than the four people in front of him and he still wasn't sure if he wanted to trust them with this. He was silent for a long time, but they said nothing – just waited.

"It all started after the graveyard," he said at last. "Back then, I didn't even realise that anything had changed at all. I just knew that I was so _angry_ at everyone and everything. You must have noticed. I tried to keep it reigned in, but sometimes I couldn't help it, it just poured out. The first time, I blew up at Malfoy. The second… I beat up Petunia and Vernon. Dudley was next, then one of his friends. Then Hermione, when I got to Grimmauld Place, though you did provoke me into that one. It's been happening from time to time since then, but I got better at recognising it.

"There was something else that happened in the summer," he continued and cleared his throat. How would they react? Would they pity him? Be angry? Afraid, maybe. For him, of afraid _of_ him? "You must have wondered how I learned about Fiendfyre. I didn't break into the Restricted Section. I didn't need to… because Voldemort had already done it, when he was a student."

Once he said that, the rest came easier. He told them about dreaming Voldemort's memories, learning from them. He told them how he had possessed Voldemort and sent Peter to Grimmauld Place. About his confrontation with Dumbledore and his own fears that, as much as he despised the idea, he couldn't help thinking that he was, in fact, following in Voldemort's footsteps.

Some things he still kept to himself, because some secrets were too delicate for anyone else to know. The connection he had with Voldemort seemed to grow stronger with time, despite Voldemort's efforts to keep it hidden. Once in a while, a crack appeared in the wall that hid the grey corridor and whenever it happened, he took the advantage and plucked another memory. He told them nothing about the obscure alchemical magic, the horcrux, and how it apparently connected Voldemort to Grindelwald.

"That night, when Dumbledore took us to see his sister's grave," he said, looking at Ron. "You know what I mean, Ron. I _really_ wanted Malfoy dead, like I had never wanted anything before. I honestly don't know how I stopped myself, because I was ready to do it on the train. With Peter… that was different. I knew what I was doing. And I know you probably don't believe me, especially Sirius, but trust me – I knew. But there are these moments… It's like looking into a mirror, only – not. Like the image is distorted. It's my face, but if the mirror wasn't warped, it would be Voldemort's."

He looked down, then back at their faces and shook his face. He had to say it while he could still trust his voice. "I don't want to become like Voldemort, but I can't help thinking that I might be. And I don't like it. I've been in his head. It's ugly."

It felt like a huge weight had dropped from his chest, like the metal ring that had been binding it broke apart. For all that he couldn't tell them, it was a relief to lessen the load.

"That's it. I said everything I wanted to say."

Sirius stood up, came up to him and pulled him close. They embraced awkwardly – they were both bad at this – and then Sirius held onto his shoulders at arm's length and smiled.

"Harry," he said quietly, just above a whisper. "I'm with you all the way to the end, whatever end it is. And if you're ever worried that you're becoming like him, ask me. I'll tell you."

Sirius was the only one to say anything. For how far they'd come in the short time they had known each other, he had been through things with Ron, Hermione and Ginny that no one else could understand. Ginny got to him first and kissed him, leaving him rather embarrassed for a moment. Hermione held him tightly, while Ron simply gave an encouraging smile over her shoulder and nodded – a simple declaration of support, but that's all it needed to be. Harry smiled back. He didn't want to be unfair to the others, but Ron's gesture was the one he understood and appreciated the most. There were some things that were only supposed to make sense between them. He wondered if Sirius and James had ever had something like that.

Relieved as he was, sleep didn't come easily that night. He lay awake late into Saturday morning, his mind racing with too many things to let him rest. Soul-sharing made him feel better, but it did nothing to impede Voldemort. There was no other way to defeating him than the one he'd been travelling for months.

He wasn't going to become Voldemort. He had to be better. What Voldemort could have, _should have_ been. Tom Riddle had chosen wrong and created Voldemort. He wasn't going to make that mistake.

~~oOo~~

The first week of February announced the arrival of the harshest winter month with copious snowfall. The school grounds disappeared under a thick sheet that made it nigh impossible to walk through. Hagrid was doing fine, but Harry had to blast himself a path with a Fire Charm, quietly regretting he'd asked Hagrid to escort him instead of just flying to the gates on his broom. He'd dressed for a blizzard, but arrived pouring with sweat under four layers of clothing.

"Harry Potter," said the Auror waiting for him. Three more were miling about, watching out for threats. "I've been asked to escort you to the Ministry."

"Nice to meet you. Thanks for walking with me, Hagrid."

"No problem. Keep yerself safe there, alrigh'?"

"Yeah, I intend to."

Hagrid made his way back up the fresh trail, kicking up the snow with his long strides. The Aurors' leader measured Harry with a peculiar look and stuck out his hand.

"We haven't been properly introduced. Auror Captain Anton Robards. These are Aurors Proudfoot, Shins and Ribs."

Harry paid particular attention to the last two. Shins was the one Ron had attacked to retrieve his trunk. Ribs was supposed to be his strange partner, strange even for a wizard – and he was. He didn't seem to move at all, Harry couldn't even tell if he was breathing. Only his eyes zipped quickly from side to side.

"Captain Robards? You were the one they sent to arrest me, once."

"What a conversation starter, isn't it?"

There was a loud crack, not unlike a whip shooting through the air, and Sturgis appeared in the Aurors' midst. Ribs' wand was out so fast Harry couldn't tell when the man had moved. Harry was sure Sturgis had apparated so loudly on purpose, because he'd seen him do it much quieter.

"Good morning, everyone," Sturgis said nonchalantly. "You know, Captain, if I were here to assassinate Mr. Potter, you would have already failed at your job."

"Don't flatter yourself, Podmore. We knew you were coming."

"Still salty about that business in Glasgow, I see."

Robards mouth quirked into a smirk. "Still bitter that you couldn't collect your bounty?"

"Pah."

"Tell yourself whatever you want, Podmore, but tell it to yourself. Mr. Potter, if you would."

Sturgis held out his hand for Harry and they apparated to Hogsmeade, from where they took the Floo to the Ministry. The Auror escort accompanied Harry and Sturgis to the security desk, at which point they were met by Sirius and the Aurors marched off.

"What are you doing here, Sturgis?" Harry asked out of the corner of his mouth as they traversed the Ministry's halls.

"I'm your bodyguard."

"Well, thanks for volunteering."

"Oh, I didn't," said Sturgis off-handedly. "I was hired."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Hired?"

"I am a mercenary, you know."

"Who hired you?"

"This guy," Sturgis said, pointing at Sirius' back. "He pays rather handsomely, I have to say."

"You wouldn't have come out of a sense of duty?" Harry asked. "Or because it's the right thing to do? Or because we're friends?"

Sturgis snorted. "There isn't a shred of nobility in my body."

"Don't we know it," Sirius quipped.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

"To meet the rest of the delegation," Sirius said, sounding pained. "Apparently the Confederation is a big deal and they have protocol and ceremonies that need abiding by."

"That's… incredibly interesting," Harry commented.

"It's probably going to be incredibly boring," Sirius said.

Sturgis shook his head. "You're both such philistines."

It was the first time since the trial that Harry could observe how people reacted to Sirius, now that he had been exonerated. There was one of two attempts to mob him by groups of reporters who hang around the Department of International Cooperation, but for the most part, people limited themselves to staring. A brave few offered greetings or shook hands with Sirius, who took it all in stride. Harry found himself envious of the ease with which Sirius dealt with his newfound fame, though there was a good side to it – for once, no one was interested in _him._

Sirius lead them at a brisk pace into the heart of Barty Crouch's domain. The atmosphere here was one of nervous business. Wizards and witches ran in all directions, often carrying stacks of folders or old-looking scrolls. Sirius went right past the flummoxed assistant who attempted to stop them outside Crouch's office and slammed the door in the young witch's face once they were all inside.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Crouch in greeting. "Mr. Potter, you look about ready to burst."

Harry took off the travelling cloak and stuffed into his bag. "Yes, I think I may have overdressed."

"There will be time to freshen up once we arrive. The Confederation doesn't much care for whatever hour is on the clock, so I suspect they shall not convene until the late evening."

Crouch laid out the particulars of the conference. Four days had been reserved, but that was open to amendments, should they be required. Delegates were traditionally assigned quarters in the Assembly Hall (the Confederation's favourite venue), but the British had been invited to stay at a private residence.

"I suppose we have you to thank for it, Mr. Potter," said Crouch.

"Me? I didn't do anything."

"The residence is the home of Etienne Delacour, the French Minister for Magic."

"Delacour?" Harry repeated. "Any relation to Fleur Delacour?"

"Indeed. She's his daughter."

Crouch and Sirius engaged in a lively exchange of which Harry understood little, except that it had to do with the Ministry. Sturgis seemed entirely uninterested in it, and occupied himself by spinning his wand around his fingers in ways that shouldn't be possible.

"Are you using magic to do that?" Harry asked.

"I think so," Sturgis replied. "Doesn't look possible without it."

Harry frowned. "You don't know?"

"I'm not actively casting any spell. I think it has more to do with the magic of the wand itself. Wandless magic is rare skill, and those who possess it can rarely do anything more impressive than light a candle."

"I can summon my wand."

"I would argue that the principle is the same as what I'm doing. It's more the wand's doing than yours."

Harry reached for his own wand and tried to spin it around his hand like Sturgis was doing, but it cluttered to the floor. _"Accio wand."_ It leapt into his hand. "See?"

Sturgis stopped playing with his own wand and looked at Harry's, frowning. He then tossed his across the room and before it fell to the floor, it flew back to him. "It seems I was right. Neat trick, though."

"You've never tried it before? As soon as I learned it in the summer, Ron started bugging me to show him how, but he couldn't do it. Honestly, I'm not sure how I do it. And how could you do it right away?"

"Alright. Look at this."

Sturgis threw his wand again, but this time it circled behind Crouch and returned to Sturgis having completed a lap around the office. Harry stared, dumbfounded.

"Okay, I got nothing."

"Imagine if I had a knife, enchanted with flight," Sturgis said. "When thrown, it would strike the target perfectly each time, requiring none of my own skill to do so. Enchanted objects are infused with magic. A wand is different. The wandmaker doesn't enchant it, but the process of creation facilitates the wand's own ability to become magical. Essentially, a wand's magical potential is infinitely greater than that of an enchanted object. Thus, I pose that when I spin it in apparently impossible ways or when you think you summon it, it's the wand performing the magic, like an enchanted object would do."

"How do we test that theory?"

"I already did," Sturgis said. "But try it for yourself. Toss your wand, but don't summon it. Just… want it to come back to you."

"That's ridiculous," Harry argued.

"Suit yourself."

Harry stared incredulously at Sturgis, but the Hit-wizard went back to his wand-spinning, paying Harry no mind.

"Alright," Harry muttered and, feeling rather stupid, tossed his wand across the room. "Acc-" he began, but bit his tongue.

A wizard was supposed to have a special bond with his wand, that's what Ollivander had said. Dumbledore had shown him how to look for threads of magic. Sturgis had no reason to lie, unless he was just playing a prank.

Harry _pulled,_ more with thought than magic and the wand leapt up toward him. He tilted his head curiously.

"Alright, you win," he muttered to Sturgis.

"I don't expect Ron will be able to do it, however," Sturgis said.

"Why not?"

"Because you're a much better wizard than him."

Harry didn't have a chance to ask what Sturgis meant, because Sirius and Crouch were apparently done talking. The next hour was a frantic affair as the party going to France assembled. They were joined by two of Crouch's people, an escort of four Aurors under the command of one Albert Runcorn, representatives of DMLE and Magical Finance and finally, Minister Fudge and, to Harry's surprise, Percy.

"They dragged you into this, too?"

"Um, yes."

Percy manoeuvred away and struck up a conversation with one of Crouch's people. Harry couldn't help but notice he seemed nervous. Though unofficially, Percy was in the Order. He must have heard about Peter. The Prophet had reported his death at the hands of 'an unidentified Death Eater'. The Aurors present agreed with that assessment. Dumbledore's Memory Charms ensured the truth would remain a secret.

It wasn't the first such reaction Harry had seen. But for a small minority, the Order condemned him for what he'd done. Thankfully, the people whose opinions he cared for accepted his actions, though Ginny had been a bit on the cool side around him recently. Ron had seen the aftermath of the Grangers' deaths – Harry had hoped he would understand, and he did. Hermione's reaction had surprised him. She hadn't said anything about Peter directly.

"You know Harry… Now I wish I hadn't stopped you," she'd said. They had been alone in the Common Room, lounging by the fire long after everyone else had left. "I wish Malfoy hadn't escaped."

He wondered if she had told anyone else about that regret.

~~oOo~~

The carriage that would take them to France was waiting out in the street where the visitors' entrance was. There was an Obliviator at either end, in case the Muggle-Repelling Charms faltered. The carriage was of a dark blue colour, with golden ornaments and the crest of the Ministry of Magic emblazoned on the door. A dozen thestrals were in the harness up front. Harry climbed into the coach after Fudge and took a seat in one of the large, comfortable single seats. The Minister gave him a nervous smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. I haven't had a chance to say hello earlier. Terribly sorry."

"Minister," Harry drawled.

When Sirius climbed in, Fudge quickly looked away. Harry almost felt bad for the man. Between the Order and Barty Crouch, he'd been reduced to a ceremonial figure.

The rest of the party crowded inside, but the carriage didn't feel cramped. Harry heard a whip crack and they took off, climbing at a steep angle before levelling off high above London. The thestrals soon carried them away from the city and before Harry knew it, they were over the English Channel. A house elf came in from a separate compartment, serving drinks and snacks as the carriage hurtled over water and then the French countryside. From his window seat, Harry saw when they began a descent towards Paris.

The ground drew nearer at an alarming pace, but Harry noticed that they weren't descending towards the ground at all. The carriage landed on the river with an enormous splash, but Harry only felt a slight wobble. No one else seemed to find the fact that the carriage and thestrals were treading water as if it were solid ground strange.

They came to a stop under a wide bridge. The Aurors hopped out first, followed by Fudge, then Dumbledore, then Crouch and the rest of the Ministry officials and lastly, Harry, Sirius and Sturgis. Harry knelt down and cupped his hands. He no trouble filling them with water and yet he was standing on it. Sirius winked at him.

"Magic, eh?"

Awaiting them under the bridge was a group of wizards and witches, most of whom wore uniform-like blue robes. Given how they had positioned themselves around the others, Harry assumed they were French Aurors. Fudge stepped forward and shook hands with a short, round-bellied wizard with a pointy beard.

"Barty, would you translate? My French is a bit rusty..."

"But of course, Cornelius."

As it turned out, the bearded wizard was Minister Delacour. He shook hands with all members of the delegation and called on one of his Aurors – Harry had guessed right – who presented a portkey, which transported the group to the Minister's residence.

The home of Delacours was a spacious estate smartly hidden in the Montmartre district, not unlike Grimmauld Place. They landed in the garden – a display of decorative shrubs, flowerbeds and neatly maintained hedges, all enclosed by three high walls. Were it not for the snow on top of the walls, one could think it was, in fact, summer.

Madame Delacour descended the stairs from the house to greet the guests. It didn't escape Harry's notice that she paid him a little more attention, while exchanging swift handshakes with the others. Harry wondered if this had something to do with Fleur.

Once the introductions were done, they invited to make themselves comfortable before dinner. Madame and Monsieur Delacour personally showed everyone to their rooms, but Harry found himself alone in the salon.

"Don't worry, 'Arry, you were not forgotten."

He spun around to face Fleur, who stood near the door with her arms crossed over her chest. Looking at her, Harry suddenly felt very hot, and it had nothing to do with temperature.

Fleur burst out into a melodic laughter. "You look 'orrible."

"I already felt bad enough about it. Thanks, Fleur."

She linked her arm through his and led him upstairs. "Come. I'll show you your room."

"Did you have something to do with your father's invitation?"

"Naturellement. It was my idea."

They passed by some of the others on the way (Sirius gave him a grin and thumbs up when Fleur wasn't looking). Fleur led him up to the attic. His room turned out to be a spacious affair with a private bathroom, decorated in shades of brown and blue.

"Well, 'ere we are," Fleur said, inviting him in with a sweeping gesture. "I think you'll be comfortable."

"This is great, thank you," Harry said, not quite sure what to say. He and Fleur were friends in only the most superficial of ways and he still felt somewhat intimidated. She was just as stunning as he'd remembered her. "So, uh, how's Gabrielle?"

"She's well. She's probably visiting one of her friends."

"Your English is really good."

"Thank you, 'Arry."

"So, what have you been doing?"

Fleur crossed the room and sat down in the swivel chair by the desk. "Working. The Tournament opened many doors for me."

"I bet being the Minister's daughter didn't hurt either," Harry said, and almost immediately bit his tongue. _Right, because you're not good enough by yourself. Stupid!_

But Fleur didn't seem offended. She threw her head back and laughed. "No, it didn't. I will leave you alone. I think you should take a shower before dinner."

She gave him another dazzling smile and danced out of the room, and Harry fell back onto the bed. Those few minutes with Fleur had somehow been more exhausting than a duel. He vowed never to tell Ginny about any of this. He didn't know if she was the jealous type and he'd rather not find out.

Dinner was served in the salon. Minister Delacour sat at the head of the table, while Dumbledore and Fudge were on his left and right, respectively. Among the guests was one of the Aurors who had met the British delegation on the river, though he wasn't wearing the blue robes anymore. The reason for his presence quickly became clear when Fleur came into the room – she approached the Auror and kissed him briefly. Harry chastised himself for sneaking a glance. So, Fleur had a boyfriend. Well. Not really surprising.

Harry felt incredibly out of place at the table. What was his purpose here, exactly? Fleur, who wasn't much older than him, readily joined the discussions that broke out. Harry knew nothing about the ICW or international politics. His expertise was still growing and confined to a field whose main application was in a fight. Fortunately, no one was calling on him to answer questions and he made it through dinner without embarrassing himself.

At last, dinner came to an end and the gathering started splintering into smaller groups. Sirius swung by briefly to let him know that they would be leaving in a half hour and to find Sturgis when time came. Armed with that knowledge, Harry braced himself to navigate the small crowd for thirty more minutes, praying that he would continue to go unnoticed.

He seriously considered faking food poisoning when he saw Fleur approaching, boyfriend in tow.

"'Arry, this is Allard. Allard, 'Arry Potter."

Allard extended a hand. "Fleur speaks highly of you."

"Mhm," Harry mumbled, shaking Allard's hand. "I mean, thank you. Nice to meet you."

The smalltalk encompassed subjects Harry imagined someone might think of when talking to a fifteen-year old: school, interests, possible future career. Harry gave non committal answers, aware that was probably coming off rude, but he couldn't very well discuss what he did in his free time these days. Allard didn't seem like the sort of bloke who would gladly talk about Dark Arts. Thankfully, Sturgis inserted himself into the conversation.

"So – Allard, was it? – I couldn't help noticing earlier that you're an Auror. Out of training yet?"

"Yes, just recently. I don't believe we've met, monsieur…"

"Podmore. Nevermind. Say, have you had any trouble with werewolves recently? I don't know if you heard, but Britain's made a fine mess of this…"

Sturgis wasn't deterred by the fact that Fudge was nearby and had apparently heard what Sturgis had just said.

"...and I don't believe a skilled duelist would have trouble subduing a werewolf," Allard said.

Harry snorted. "You must not have met a werewolf before."

 _"Pardon?"_

"Werewolves can be frighteningly lethal. And what did you mean, subdue? They're people, just like everyone else."

"I did not mean-" Allard began, but was interrupted.

"Merlin's beard, look at the time," Sturgis said. "Looks like we're off. It's been a pleasure, Fleur, Alain."

"Uh, it's Allard."

Sturgis ushered Harry outside, where soon others started gathering as well.

"You didn't really forget his name, did you?"

Sturgis pursed his lips. "Of course not. It was amusing."

~~oOo~~

The Assembly Hall was one of the more prominent buildings in the wizarding district of Paris, next to the local Gringotts branch and the Ministry complex, which, unlike British one, was above ground. The Hall was the birthplace of the Confederation and the most frequent venue chosen for the gatherings. For a building with such infrequent use, it wasn't lacking in splendour.

The centrepiece was a massive amphitheatre, with ascending, curved rows of seats. Those closest to the central stage were reserved for official delegates, important dignitaries and guests. General audience was rarely permitted to attend, since the higher rows were usually taken up by people who had an interest in observing the conference, and the press. As Harry had been told, the conferences, because of how infrequent they were, served more than simply ICW business. They drew some of the most influential wizards and witches from all over the world to one place. Much of the dealing happened behind closed doors. The first day of this conference had been reserved for what was being commonly called 'the British matter'.

The British and French delegations were sat next to each other. Harry craned his neck to take in the enormous hall. The seats were wood and leather, floors brown marble, carpets streamed down the aisles, the walls were dotted with observation galleries and huge tapestries reaching all the way down to the floor, depicting insignias of the Confederation's member states, and all of it was illuminated by a crystal chandelier the size of a small house.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Percy muttered excitedly. Harry ended up sitting between him and Sturgis.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Quite something..."

It took a solid quarter hour before everyone was seated. The crowd was one of the biggest Harry had ever seen. The World Cup last year had been on an even grander scale, but the Hall gave a completely different impression to the stadium.

Once the initial commotion died down, things moved quickly. A wizard stood up in the German delegates' section who looked to be about Kingsley's age, and took to the podium. Smartly dressed in cobalt-blue robes, athletically built, he cut an impressive figure.

"Jorgen Vanard, the Baron of Kirsch and Supreme Mugwump," said Sturgis. "The kind of man Lucius Malfoy wishes he could be."

Simply looking at Vanard, Harry found that he possessed this unquantifiable attribute that seemed to separate great wizards from the chaff. Harry sensed it in Sturgis, Sirius, Mulciber… but someone like Dumbledore had it in spades. Vanard gave the impression of being closer to Dumbledore than any wizard Harry had ever met, barring Voldemort.

Vanard gave a short speech in what sounded like German, but somehow Harry understood it perfectly, as if somewhere along the way to his ears the words were translated to English. When asked, Sturgis explained there were complex charms cast into the foundations of the Hall, not all of which were there for protection.

"This kind of magic is exceedingly complex. It's one of the reasons the Confederation likes this place so much."

Vanard began by welcoming the delegates and guests and laid out the agenda for the planned four days of the conference and eventually returned to the very first he had touched on.

"The Confederation and the magical community at large are concerned by the recent events in Wizarding Britain," said Vanard, his gaze sweeping the Hall, before coming to rest on Fudge. "We have not forgotten the unrest of more than ten years ago, when a wizard styling himself as Lord Voldemort-"

It was then that Harry learned that the fear of Voldemort's name was apparently a non-issue outside Britain.

"-amassed considerable influence among certain circles of the British society and waged a civil war on the legitimate government. The events of his downfall continue to be a mystery for most…"

There was no doubt that Vanard sought Harry out. Harry returned the steely look in kind. Something told him it would be beneficial to learn more about the Baron of Kirsch.

"...and several months ago, it became apparent that Lord Voldemort has resurfaced after spending thirteen years presumed dead. There are credible concerns about his disruptive influence spreading out to the continent. The Confederation therefore calls on the British delegates to illuminate us, so that we may be assured the conflict will not escalate. I now relinquish the floor to the Minister for Magic of Wizarding Britain, Cornelius Fudge."

Fudge stood up and shakily made his way to the podium, where he shook hands with Vanard, who promptly vacated the stage. Fudge proceeded to give a speech of his own and was then followed by Crouch, whose testimony was much better received by the Confederation.

The proceedings stretched into an hour, then two, as Crouch and Fudge took questions from other delegates. Eventually, Dumbledore was invited to speak and did so with his usual calm, commanding presence. Harry particularly enjoyed the part where Fudge began sweating after being asked why Dumbledore had been stripped of his positions in the Wizengamot and the Confederation.

After what seemed like forever, the Supreme Mugwump took the stage again.

"On behalf of the Confederation, I thank Minister Fudge, Director Crouch and Headmaster Dumbledore for their exhaustive answers. However, several days ago it was pointed out to me that listening to only one side of the British conflict would be a disservice to us all."

Harry frowned. One side? What other side was there? Next to him, Sturgis looked like he was waiting for something he knew was coming.

"I was approached by Sylvestre Malfoy, a wizard whose reputation is known to many of us here. I believe this gathering will be better served by allowing Mr. Malfoy to speak for himself."

The man who walked up to the podium next was eerily similar to Lucius Malfoy. His face was different and he didn't wear his hair as long, but Harry thought that if he wanted to impersonate Lucius, he could be successful without a drop of Polyjuice Potion.

"Thank you, Supreme Mugwump," said Sylvestre Malfoy. "I am here on behalf of another wizard. A wizard who has been unduly demonised in domestic and international press. A patriot who was cast into one category with warmongers and tyrants. I can only speak for myself, but let me say this: I have never met a man more intent on ushering in a new era of prosperity for wizards and witches everywhere than him. Naturally, he is drawn to begin his work with his home country of Wizarding Britain.

"His previous attempt was unsuccessful – he was rebuffed by the established elites, a cabal of powerful few who are content to enrich themselves at the cost of a deteriorating society. I am sad to say that this rotten influence has started spreading across all of Europe. The man I speak of has always fought for the betterment of wizardkind. Yes, drastic, perhaps even violent measures have been employed, but such is the nature of the world. Great changes like these don't come gently. They are ushered in by great men who aren't afraid to take a stand and tear out the roots of corruption by any means necessary.

"This man intends to steer Europe onto a path towards greatness, that which we once had but have lost, busy as we were building our own private enclaves in a continuously divided magical society. We must be shaken awake from this slumber and called to action. A task of this magnitude can only be accomplished with great effort, loss of the old, so the new can take root. The disease permeating Europe must be burned away, and this process of cleansing starts with the troubled Wizarding Britain. But I am not the best person to present to you this vision for the future. Allow me to introduce the man who can do it much better. Witches and wizards of the Confederation, honoured guests, members of the public and the press, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Lord Voldemort."


	24. CHAPTER EIGHT: Scars Old And New, Part 1

**CHAPTER EIGHT: Scars Old And New**

 **Part 1**

Harry thought he heard a storm of protests erupt all around him, but it might have been merely whispers. Everything seemed to fall away as his eyes lingered on Sylvestre Malfoy, who vacated the stage in graceful strides. A door off to the side of the podium opened and out walked Voldemort.

Harry didn't know when he had reached for his wand, but he noticed when he clasped his fingers around it. A hand reached over from behind, latching onto his shoulder.

"We can't, Harry," Dumbledore urged. "Voldemort came to an agreement with the Supreme Mugwump. He's come to deliver a speech, but he will retaliate if attacked first."

For a moment, Harry was torn between action and inaction. Voldemort stepped up onto the stage, about to address the Confederation, and looked straight at him and smiled. The red eyes gleamed with their usual malice, the cold smile triumphant.

Harry wanted to bolt from his seat, do something, _anything,_ but an arm sneaked across his chest.

"Don't you dare," Sturgis muttered. "You would invite catastrophe."

"And _letting him speak_ isn't one?"

Sturgis leaned in. "How many would die? We have no choice. He won this battle."

Voldemort rested his hands on the lectern and the protests were cut short as if by a curse. The Dark Lord cast a look over the gathering, unhurriedly letting his audience settle into a grave-like silence. Harry found himself frozen in his seat, one hand clutching his wand, the other gripping the armrest, knuckles on both gone white.

And then Voldemort spoke.

"Witches and wizards of the Confederation. Many of you must suspect I've come before you to deliver a declaration of war, proof of my alleged tyrannical ambitions. It would be words foolishly spent. War has already been declared – civil war, which is currently in effect in Britain. Those who oppose me, my supporters and our cause, have cried out against me, labeling me a terrorist and fear-mongerer. For a second time in as many decades, I'm fighting to restore Britain to what it once was – a true home for all who hold magic dear, a beacon of wizarding civilisation, and once again, I am decried a monster for standing up for what is _right."_

Harry didn't know what made a great orator, but Voldemort didn't need to be one to hold the attention of the wizarding world. His reputation ensured that each word was readily captured, hammered into the Confederation's collective consciousness like it was being carved into stone. The Dark Lord held himself perfectly straight and with his immaculate robes, handsome face and commanding tone, his words echoed in the Hall with the weight of absolute authority. To disagree with him seemed incredulous – _of course_ that the Confederation shouldn't involve itself with an internal conflict. _Of course_ they could rest assured the civil war would be brought to a swift resolution and Voldemort would install a government both mindful of tradition and forward-thinking – the best of the past and future, to craft a society where all those with the gift of magic would thrive, free from the ruinous influences of the corrupt and the wicked. Soaring words to soothe the soul that yearned for something better.

Voldemort spoke and the leaders of the wizarding world listened and it terrified Harry.

Finally, the speech ended and Voldemort exited through the same door, Sylvestre Malfoy having left already, and for what seemed like a very long time, the Assembly Hall remained still, yet under Voldemort's spell. A rare kind of magic.

Jorgen Vanard stood and took to the podium again. As if an enchantment had been broken, the Hall exploded into chaos. Delegates shouted over each other, fights broke out, Aurors swept in to reign in the crowd that seemed one ill-tempered spell away from a riot. The Supreme Mugwump spelled his voice to carry over the commotion and out-shouted everyone else, wrangling the Confederation into a fragile peace.

"Please! This is beneath us all!" he urged. "Exhaustive negotiations took place between myself and Lord Voldemort's representatives to allow his appearance before us to be peaceful – and it was. I would be remiss in my duties had I ignored a side in this dispute. Wizarding Britain has a recent history of conflict, a conflict they should be allowed to resolve by themselves. The Confederation was never granted a mandate to intimately interfere with any member nation."

"Are you _mad?"_ one of the delegates shouted. "Don't you know this man's crimes? He calls himself a Lord, but he's no more than a murderer!"

"Mad, am I?" Vanard said with an expression of disdain. "You're quick to judge others, Master Stavrnik, and quicker yet to use your position to your own benefit, mindless of those you trample upon. I have done my duty as the Supreme Mugwump. Now is the time for the Confederation to decide. Shall we spit on our charter and the principles that have guided us for centuries? Or shall we let things in Britain take what course they may, as we rightfully should?"

Vanard's influence, an unspoken power, cowed the vocal few that protested, and the rest quickly fell in line. One by one, delegations cast their votes. Harry did his best to keep a tally as the voting continued. There was a rare voice of support for the British, but Vanard, even though he gave no impression of leaning on the delegates, got his way. When all votes were in, more than three quarters had opted to leave Britain to its own devices. Harry didn't think they'd come here to ask for support, exactly, but to be so denounced stung.

"This isn't the end, Harry," said Dumbledore, ignoring Fudge, who seemed on the verge of a breakdown. "You win some, you lose some, as the muggles say."

"We've all heard it before," Sturgis said. "It's just one battle, Voldemort won this one, but the war's not over. How many losses does it take before we admit we're losing?"

The words lingered between them, enacting a stifling silence.

"We should leave," Sirius joined in. "There's nothing left for us to do here."

"I concur. Lingering on would be tempting fate," Dumbledore agreed.

The British delegation made to leave, walking under pitying looks of other delegates, though some seemed wholly unconcerned.

A witch Harry had seen earlier sitting in Vanard's company stood in their way.

"Sturgis," she said.

The Hit-wizard stopped abruptly. "Afternoon, Camilla. How's a public servant's life been treating you?"

"You know each other?" Sirius muttered.

"I have a message for you," Camilla said and leaned in to whisper something into Sturgis' ear. Harry watched his face change from neutral to the closest to fear Harry had ever seen on the man.

"When?" Sturgis asked quietly.

"Less than an hour ago. I just found out myself."

Sturgis looked at Dumbledore, his face gone pale. "Headmaster, I'm going to have to leave you."

"Something important?"

"A personal matter. I can't afford to ignore it."

"Very well. I think we shall be quite alright even without you."

Sturgis glanced sideways. "And... I'll need to borrow Sirius."

"What?" Sirius asked, surprised.

"I could use an extra wand."

"I don't want to seem heartless, but can you at least tell-"

"It involves Mulciber."

That was all it took. Sirius' demeanour changed in a flash. "Lead the way."

They left with Camilla and soon disappeared among the crowd. Dumbledore lay a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"We should take our leave, Harry."

They met up with the French delegation outside the Assembly Hall. Minister Delacour offered his exaggerated sympathies, though he seemed sincere enough. Perhaps that was just how he was, Harry wondered.

The Delacours invited them to stay the night, but Dumbledore and Crouch were in agreement that it wouldn't be prudent to prolong their absence from Britain any longer than necessary. Voldemort would waste no time to take advantage of the fact that the Confederation had legitimised him in the war.

Fleur cornered Harry shortly before their departure – fortunately, Allard was nowhere in sight.

"Know that you 'ave a friend 'ere, 'Arry. Write me when you're in Britain."

"Thanks, Fleur, I appreciate that. And I will."

She kissed his cheek – another small thing to keep from Ginny, just in case – and soon the British delegation, sans Sturgis and Sirius, were in the thestral carriage and on their way home.

Harry returned to Hogwarts with Dumbledore. Neither of them said anything as they walked up the path from the gate. Harry knew their relationship had soured since he'd killed Peter, but Dumbledore hadn't commented on it at all. The lessons had continued as well, all without ever discussing or even acknowledging the circumstances of Peter's death.

Once they entered the castle, Dumbledore stopped briefly. "Harry, I must again insist that you give your best to studying Occlumency."

Harry's spirits dropped even lower. With the events of the last two days, he had forgotten about his lessons with Snape. "I will, Professor."

"I can ask no more." With that, Dumbledore left.

It was well past the time the last class had ended and the students coming down the grand staircase for dinner parted in front of Dumbledore. A group of Ravenclaws noticed Harry standing in the Entrance Hall and gave him a wide berth as they passed by. Harry paid them no mind beyond a glance and started his own climb. The day's events had rid him of appetite, and he wanted nothing more than to shed his clothes and stand under the shower for as long as it took to clear his mind.

He had made it almost all the way to the Gryffindor Tower when he spotted Hermione leaving through the portrait hole.

"Harry! I didn't think you'd be back already."

"Coming down to dinner alone?"

"Ron went ahead with Neville, and I haven't seen Ginny all day." She eyed his cloak, wet with the melting snow and dried with a Warming Charm. "I can wait for you if you want to change."

"I'm not really hungry right now," Harry muttered.

Hermione's eyes darkened with concern. "Something's happened, hasn't it? I can see it in your face." She stepped closer and squeezed his arm. "You know you can tell me anything."

"Yeah, I know… You'll read about it in the Prophet if you go. I imagine they're sending out a special edition as we speak, they wouldn't wait with news this big…"

"What did the Confederation decide?"

"It's not that. Voldemort was there."

It was a rare occurrence when Hermione was struck speechless and it never lasted long. They stood in the middle of the hallway as more students passed them by. Harry responded quietly to greetings. Fred and George came along, jovial as ever, but their faces changed as soon as they approached.

"Uh, oh… " said Fred. "Clearly you're having a moment- we'll see you guys later."

It seemed like they stood there for a long time, but in fact it couldn't have been more than a minute until seemingly everyone had left the Tower and they were alone.

"What happened, Harry?" Hermione asked, much quieter this time, but her words echoed in the hallway.

Harry sighed and took off his travelling cloak. "Can you skip dinner tonight?"

"Of course, but are you sure-"

"Yes. I want to show you something I've been working on. I need to take my mind off- off everything."

"Anything you need."

Harry gave the Fat Lady the password and they slipped inside the Tower. "Come on up, it's in the dorm."

A tad hesitant at first, Hermione followed him upstairs. The dormitory was in the usual state of controlled chaos, with clothes strewn about, bed curtains half-drawn and a hastily abandoned game of Exploding Snap on the table. Harry didn't have it in himself to be embarrassed and he hardly expected Hermione to judge.

"Have a seat," he said as he kicked his trunk open and rummaged through the neatly folded clothes, courtesy of Dobby, who had taken Harry into his personal care. The thick notebook he was looking for was, as always, hidden in the double bottom of his broom-care kit.

He threw his robe on the bed and sat across from Hermione, paging through the notebook. Most of the pages were still empty, but he'd filled a good number of them with his notes – incoherent ramblings, the lot of it, but far from useless.

"I suppose I got as far as I can on my own," he explained, turning the notebook around towards Hermione. "At some point you just need Arithmancy though. I could use your help with that."

"Harry, is that-"

"I'm sure you've been suspecting something, after that affair with McLaggen. McGonagall was right. I did create that curse, but it _is_ rather crude – no finesse at all. Any idiot can hammer in a nail. That spell's a lot like that. This one, not so much."

Hermione seemed to make sense of his notes faster than Harry, and he had _written_ them. She looked up, a hint of suspicion in her expression. "You haven't asked me for help before."

Harry thought there was an accusatory note in her voice. "I haven't done a lot of things I should have, but I'm asking now. And it's not just the spell. It's also about this bloody potion I have to take now. Ron and Ginny are great friends, but this… isn't their domain."

Silence.

 _She's waiting for something._

He met her eyes and the answer leapt to his mind. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry Hermione. I haven't been the best friend to you."

The change in her eyes could have been a mere flicker of light, but the tension between them seemingly evaporated at once.

"Well," said Hermione, "let's get started."

~~oOo~~

Sirius didn't question as he followed Sturgis on a peculiar journey through France and Germany. From the Assembly Hall, the witch Camilla took them swiftly through the security of what Sirius was told was the German ambassador's mansion, a post presently occupied by Jorgen Vanard. From there they hopped over the German-French border via the Floo, landing in the German Ministry in Berlin, where Camilla parted ways with them.

Sirius didn't question, but that didn't mean he had no questions. A hundred, a thousand of them sprang to mind; what was Sturgis' relationship with Camilla and through her, with Vanard? The train of thought led Sirius to conclude that he really didn't know much about Sturgis. Their acquaintance at Hogwarts had been superficial. Sirius could say more about Snape. Sturgis had been recruited into the Order fairly late in the war, by Dumbledore himself, and had been a rare presence in their ranks, hardly more than a ghost. He stood out in battle, but Sirius couldn't recall a single social outing he'd seen Sturgis attend with the others. Beyond his recent contributions, Sturgis' credibility lay almost entirely in Dumbledore's word.

He _had_ been an important player in the last few months, but mysteries around him piled up faster than any answers – such as this sudden excursion. It was the first time Sturgis had so readily jumped at the chance to confront Mulciber. Something – or most likely someone – important to Sturgis was at risk. Funny thing, that. Sirius knew nothing about the man's family, or friends, significant others, or _anyone._

Still, he followed without a word of complaint or speculation, mindful of every locale they passed through, and it was a truly bizarre collection: from the German Ministry they stopped at two inns, a tailor in Munich, a brewery out in the middle of nowhere, an apothecary, three different bars – one they passed through twice, under the owner's quizzical gaze – and several more besides. Once they'd landed in the lobby of a wizard-run bank, Sirius had had enough.

"Explain to me what we're doing, please?" he said, his demand quiet but firm, as he grabbed Sturgis' arm.

The Hit-wizard pried his hand off. "Not here. In a minute. We're almost there."

Resigned, but growing suspicious, Sirius resolved to trust his guide and hopped through the next Floo. He didn't hear the destination this time. Sturgis pulled him along with himself.

He was half-heartedly expecting another rustic tavern, but the room they arrived would sooner be found in a palace. The fireplace they exited through was a gargantuan thing of pearly white marble, with golden fixtures and a grate wrought of black iron. The entire room possessed a grand hall-like appearance. The floor was checkered black and white tiles. The floor and ceiling fell into the same black-white-gold pattern. The decor was finished with an imposing, double-winged door and an opulent curved staircase, of the same marble as the fireplace.

Sirius cast a wide look and went back to glaring a hole into Sturgis' back. He'd seen more lavish manors than he cared to remember.

"So? Why so many Floo jumps?"

Sturgis was scanning the room, eyes narrowed, wand in hand. Seeing this, Sirius armed himself as well.

"It's a sequence, like a combination lock. There really isn't a convenient way of getting up here."

Sirius' eyebrows rode up. "Up here?"

"Look out the window."

Sirius did. As far as he could tell, right outside the door was a tiny shelf of snow-blown rock and and then a sheer drop. Far in the background, he saw the hazy outlines of mountain peaks through the storm.

"Where the hell are we?"

"The Alpine Mansion."

Sirius spun around in a flash. At the top of the staircase stood a man in a suit of an obviously muggle cut, supporting himself with a bone-white cane. In fact, Sirius couldn't be sure it _wasn't_ a bone. The man didn't look that old for a wizard – his hair was still mostly black, with only patches of grey and his face was bereft of the wrinkles of truly senior age, retaining handsome lines, but he stood hunched over his cane. His hands, clasped together on top of it, trembled slightly. He seemed not so much old as weary, bearing an accumulation of old injuries. He walked down the steps with a limp, but held himself proudly, and met Sirius in the middle of the room, offering his hand.

"Sirius Black," he said by way of greeting, his grip stronger than Sirius imagined it would be. "My son tells me you're a formidable wizard."

"Your.. son?" Sirius looked from the man to Sturgis and back.

"Sirius," said Sturgis, coming to stand beside them, "meet my father, Benedict Hessberg."

Sirius went rigid, his hand still clasped with the man's. Anyone with a passing knowledge of Grindelwald's War knew that name. Benedict Hessberg had been one of Grindelwald's five lieutenants, his highest officers. If one believed such speculations, Voldemort had modeled the Inner Circle of Death Eaters after them.

Sirius didn't know where to begin, but was spared standing with his mouth hanging open when the door rattled violently and buckled inward.

"There'll be plenty of time to talk later," said Sturgis. "You should return upstairs."

Hessberg retreated a few paces behind them, reached into a pocket and pulled out a wand of the same, pale colouring as his cane. He drew it once in an arc in front of himself and the room responded. Tiles wriggled, the wooden panels on the walls creaked, the lamps preened, even the fireplace seemed to sway slightly.

"I'm afraid that's all the assistance I can offer. These old bones aren't fit for fighting anymore," Hessberg said, speaking with a clear German accent. "I shall be in the study when you're done."

The doors buckled again, hinges straining to keep them in place. Hessberg climbed the stairs, seemingly unconcerned. Sirius looked at Sturgis inquisitively.

"I owe you for this, Sirius. I promise you will have answers to your questions," the Hit-wizard assured.

The doors strained once more and a large splinter cracked apart, leaving a sizeable hole. Sirius raised his wand and in that moment the doors were blasted off of the hinges and collapsed with a thunderous crash. The freezing wind and snow tore inside, followed by four cloaked figures. The first one readily removed the hood from his face.

"Merlin's frostbitten balls, it's cold out there," said Mulciber, clapping his hands together. He tapped his wand against a shoulder and the snow that had been clinging to his cloak melted away at once. He levelled a self-satisfied look at Sturgis. "This is a hard place to find."

"Terribly sorry to inconvenience you," Sturgis replied.

"You should be," Mulciber retorted. "But where are _my_ manners. Introductions are in order."

One by one, Mulciber's companions drew back their hoods. One of them was a woman, about his own age, Sirius estimated, the other two were bearded giants of stature similar to Greyback.

"I take it Sturgis is acquainted with Demetra Agrattsi…"

 _Agrattsi?_ thought Sirius. _Sturgis, you're going to have a lot of explaining to do later._

"And these fine gentlemen are on a loan from Fenrir. Berger and Berger," Mulciber said jovially.

The Bergers shot them matching grins, full of perfect white teeth and armed with wicked fangs.

 _Remus, we could use you right now._

"Now that formalities are taken care of," Mulciber continued, cracking a smile, "could you point me to wherever Benedict Hessberg is hiding?"

Sturgis shifted his stance and the grip on his wand.

Mulciber's smile changed. "The hard way it is, then."

The first volley of curses from both sides clashed with the tiles that suddenly shot up from the floor, throwing off the intruders' aim – the ones beneath Sirius and Sturgis' feet remained firmly in place. The momentary advantage was quickly negated – the werewolves regained their balance swiftly and helped Mulciber and the Agrattsi woman to their feet.

The tiles shattered by the spellfire broke into jagged shards that shot at the intruders like daggers, spinning in flight. Mulciber burned most out of the air with a slash of his wand, the rest embedded themselves into the walls in a cacophony of dull _thunk-thunk-thunks._

The rest of the room's traps joined the battle, twisting and transforming, jumping in front of curses, folding together into shields, swords and spears, protecting Sirius and Sturgis and attacking the others with all of their lifeless viciousness. The fireplace tore itself from the wall, the teeth of the grate melded into arms and the mockery of a troll lumbered towards the werewolves, even as spellfire chipped away at the marble. In short order, it trapped one of the Bergers in the bear-grip of its iron arms.

Sirius found himself slinging curses at the remaining werewolf and the witch, while Sturgis and Mulciber turned the other side of the hall into a battleground of Transfiguration.

Sirius rolled under a Killing Curse from Berger and responded with a spell of his own.

 _"Terror Conuerus!"_

The curse struck Berger in the chest. In any other scenario, Sirius would keep out of melee range with a werewolf, but this wasn't about muscle anymore.

Berger snarled in satisfaction as he grabbed the lapels of Sirius' coat. Sirius grinned back.

"Feeling a little out of breath?"

And – like _magic_ – Berger's eyes went wide and he began choking, gasping desperately. Sirius drove a fist into his stomach and the werewolf slumped to the ground.

Agrattsi sent forth a flurry of wickedly sharp splinters. Sirius slashed his wand diagonally and was smothered in thick, oily smoke, so toxic that the splinters sagged like hot wax within the cloud and splattered on the floor. Sirius twirled his wrist and guided the smog towards Agrattsi. She dispelled it, but not before she sucked in a breath of the poison and doubled over, coughing. Sirius followed up with a Blindness Curse that sliced right through her half-formed shield.

Agrattsi momentarily taken out of the fight, Sirius moved to assist Sturgis in his furious duel with Mulciber. The opponents were evenly matched, each of their attacks perfectly executed, but then met with a perfect counter. Sirius coordinated his entrance with one of Sturgis' curses, but Mulciber noticed he was about to be flanked and retreated out of the line of fire.

The first Berger had extricated himself from the fireplace's embrace and was charging at Sturgis. The Hit-wizard braced himself, but the werewolf slammed him into the wall with little effort.

The room was no longer able to help them – all the traps had been eradicated. Agrattsi had canceled Sirius' curse and was back on her feet. With Mulciber still distracted by Sturgis' last Transfiguration chasing him, Sirius focused on the witch.

She leapt away from his Killing Curse, but he hadn't been aiming to kill her with it. A Banishing Charm launched the battered remains of the fireplace across the room at Agrattsi, pushing her straight out the door into the snowstorm and over the precipice. Sirius heard a faint cry before she went over the edge of the chasm below.

Mulciber summoned the incapacitated Berger to his side just as Sturgis disarmed the other – literally. The werewolf backed away, cradling a bleeding stump of his right hand. Mulciber was the only one left with a wand and able to fight. He spared a glance to asses the situation and wasted no time, seeing Sirius and Sturgis stalking closer.

"We'll meet again," the Death Eater snarled, backing away to the shelf outside the door. He laid a hand on each werewolf and disapparated, a fraction of a moment before a curse zapped through the space where his head had just been.

Sturgis jabbed his wand at the door. They rose and attached themselves back to the hinges, instantly silencing the howling of the wind.

"Come on," Sturgis said, glancing over at Sirius.

He followed Sturgis upstairs and through a large salon, down a corridor and into a study. The shelves which presumably used to hold books were all empty, as were the cabinets. The desk was similarly bare. Hessberg stood by a much smaller fireplace, holding a small suitcase.

"We can't stay here," said Sturgis.

"Of course," replied Hessberg. "I've already gathered everything of value. We will relocate to Berlin at once."

"Mulciber might be regrouping as we speak, finding more wands to bring along."

Hessberg donned a heavy leather coat. "Sturgis, remember to disassemble everything behind you." He cast a pinch of Floo powder into the fire and stepped through.

"What did he mean by disassemble?" asked Sirius.

Sturgis chucked another handful of powder into the fireplace, then walked over to the desk and drew a bright rune on it. It faded quickly and a crack appeared in the tabletop, light escaping out of it. The crack grew, drawing a symbol Sirius recognised without any trouble. A line inside a circle, inside a triangle – a mark widely associated with Grindelwald.

Sturgis noticed Sirius frowning. "The Alpine Mansion was a gift to my father from Gellert Grindelwald." He pressed his palm to the symbol and the building _lurched_ beneath their feet.

"We don't have much time," Sturgis urged.

The door out to the hallway was still open. Sirius watched as the farthest part of the building fell apart, the wave of destruction rapidly approaching the study. Sturgis pushed him gently into the fireplace and muttered the destination, which Sirius didn't hear over the whooshing of green flames and the rumble of the Alpine Mansion crumbling all around him. Just as the study began to come apart, the Floo whisked him away.

~~oOo~~

Harry appreciated the opportunity to mend bridges with Hermione. They had been distant ever since Malfoy's escape from Hogwarts, not so much because of anything either of them did – although Hermione had been explicit in her disapproval of Harry's guiltless approach to very nearly maiming McLaggen – but mostly because they didn't spend as much time together as they used to. He and Ron had carried on their usual sparring matches, but Harry neglected even Ginny almost as much as Hermione and they were supposed to be dating.

Given what had transpired in France, Harry thought it fine to take a few days off from the war and the associated mess, especially after the next morning's Prophet was delivered.

Two wizards shared the front page. A snapshot of Voldemort at the podium – reportedly the first ever public photograph of him – next to the portrait of Jorgen Vanard. Rita Skeeter spared no venom in speculating whether the Supreme Mugwump was secretly allied with the Dark Lord, given his insistence on recognising Voldemort's faction as a legitimate contender in a civil war and the largely ignored issue of the attack on Nurmengard.

Even more damning was the second page, which, besides accusing Sylvestre Malfoy and drawing parallels between him and Lucius, made mention of a protest held outside the Assembly Hall during the first day of the conference, spearheaded by the Warden of Nurmengard, ascended to his post for being the most senior of the survivors of the bloody battle. What Harry read next, however, was what weighed in the most on his decision to scoop up his friends and lock themselves away in the Chamber of Secrets, away from the stares and whispers.

DRACO MALFOY FOUND A FRAUD – WANTED BY MINISTRY

Skeeter, bless her black little heart, had convinced a staff member at Durmstrang to confirm that Draco had not, in fact, relocated to study there, as had been touted often and loudly by his parents. If Draco wasn't at Durmstrang, why wasn't he at Hogwarts? Sirius and Crouch leaned on the right people and later that same day, Fudge was giving a statement, firmly tying Draco to the dead-end case of triple murder of the Grangers and Hestia Jones. It seemed that, even though Voldemort had scored an undeniable victory in France, Draco Malfoy's fortune was running out at last. Thus, Harry commanded that the four of them were skipping morning classes and heard no protest until they were down in the Chamber.

"You really shouldn't cut class, Harry," Hermione said, though the reprimand lacked spirit. "You've already missed so many this year…"

Harry put an arm around her. "I'm caught up on my homework, that'll have to satisfy the Professors. Besides," he added, shrugging, "it's not like Dumbledore will expel me."

Hermione looked on disapprovingly.

"Oh, come off it."

"What about the Board of Governors?"

Harry frowned. "Right – them and the Wizengamot are still not under the Order's control. I'll mention it to Sirius."

"I think it's frankly dangerous that a few people can hold the Ministry hostage."

"A few extremely well-placed people, in location and time," Harry corrected. "The odds of such an arrangement are further than the odds of Sirius wrestling Greyback in the sheets on a full moon."

"Blergh. I could have lived without ever imagining that, thanks," said Ron.

"The Ministry's rotten to the core," Harry continued. "This just proves it. The Order has to hold it, or we'd be handing it over to Voldemort."

"This is how Grindelwald started in Germany," Hermione pointed out. "He installed his lieutenants in key positions in the government."

"Dumbledore isn't Grindelwald," Harry said with finality. "And this discussion is way over my head anyway. Let's curse each other!"

They paired off as they usually did – Harry and Ron, Hermione and Ginny – then switched partners after each match. They went four rounds before Ginny announced that she wanted to practice the Patronus Charm.

Ron frowned as he observed Ginny prepare, searching for the right memory with her eyes closed. "Tell me again why you can't do it anymore?"

"The theory of Dark Arts – the Dark Touch," Harry reminded him. "I'm not explaining it again. Did you even crack open that book I gave you?"

"I did," Ron retorted. "Half of it is just incoherent gibberish."

"That's my point. It's enchanted. Much of the text only starts making sense once you have-"

"The Dark Touch. Right. You said it was a theory."

Harry rolled his eyes. "In the same way as the theory of inanimate Transfigurations. It's a confirmed phenomenon."

"I still say it's a silly name."

Harry gave a quiet chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose it is, when one says it like you do."

"Like what?"

"Just cast the damn spell, Ron."

With a last squint at Harry, Ron raised his wand high, spoke the words and called forth a silvery dog that leapt merrily through the air.

"Nicely done," Harry commented.

Ron grinned. "Thanks. I finally got it working a few days ago."

Ginny's turn was next. She struggled – twice the spell dissolved into a shapeless mist, but on the third try, it coalesced into a huge stallion. It trotted up to Harry, huffed angrily, and launched into a gallop around the Chamber, its hooves spraying silver sparks as it went. Ron's Patronus gave chase, manoeuvring between the muscular legs of the horse.

Harry aimed at the prancing guardians, drew back his arm and threw it forward. There was a sound like a distant, pained moan of a hag as the curse leapt eagerly from his wand and the Patronuses exploded into a rain of tiny silver lights, like blown dandelions, and blinked out of existence.

Harry shot Ron and Ginny a stern look. "There's always magic that will beat yours."

"What kind of spell was that?" Ginny asked, looking as much intrigued as she seemed cross at Harry cutting her fun short.

"The kind unavailable to you." He turned to Hermione. "Wanna give the Patronus a go?"

She shook her head. "No, I think I've had enough of the Patronus Charm for a while. Don't even say it, Ron!" she added, casting him a stormy look.

The morning classes were coming to an end and Ron announced his desire to head back up. They returned to the castle, but Harry fell back with Hermione.

"Why don't you guys go ahead. We'll join you later."

Ron shrugged and matched away. Ginny stopped to give Harry a quick kiss and followed her brother. Once alone in the hallway, Harry took Hermione's hand and led her upstairs through a few shortcuts that put them next to the enormous window overlooking the courtyard. They could see students coming back from the greenhouses through the light snowfall. Harry sat down on the windowsill. Hermione took a spot opposite him and pulled her knees up to her chin.

"Ron can think what he likes, but I don't think it's a silly name," Harry said. "It's to be spoken with reverence, not in jest – and I think you think the same."

Hermione seemed taken aback, certainly surprised, but didn't deny it.

"How did you know?" she asked quietly, looking out through the window.

Harry smiled darkly. "I have the Dark Touch. I can sense it on you."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "I suppose there's no point in playing ignorant anymore."

"I've only known a few days," Harry admitted, "but I suspect you started long before that."

Hermione wrung her hands together nervously. "It was after…" She paused, looking up at him.

"Malfoy," he finished, watching her from under half-closed eyelids.

"Yes."

High above them the bell tolled, announcing the hour.

"At first I thought what you and Ron wanted to do was wrong," Hermione began. "But then, after he ran, I realised I'd been wanting to do it myself."

Her face changed as she spoke – from resolute to hot anger when she mentioned Malfoy, to fascination with the Dark Arts that left her cheeks a rosy pink from excitement.

"There was a lot of trial and error," she said, coming up on the end of her tale, "and I'm sure between Dumbledore, Moody and Sirius and Sturgis you're much more advanced than I am, and I _know_ it was dangerous to do on my own, but I couldn't help myself." She looked up at him, her shy smile replaced by hesitation.

"You know, I wasn't sure until yesterday, when I showed you the spell I was trying to design," Harry said. "Not a word of protest. I was expecting to have to convince you."

Hermione tilted her head and shifted, her legs now stretched out flat on the windowsill alongside his. "There wasn't much to question. Your notes are terribly disorganised and there are large gaps. I hardly knew what I was looking at."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I'm frankly amazed you got the other spell to work at all."

Harry put his hands above his heart. "Ah, the sting of betrayal – it pierces right through."

They shared a laugh that echoed in the hallways, empty save for them. Outside the window, the snowfall gained strength.

"I was wondering…" Hermione said.

"Yes?"

"Where's the basilisk? It usually comes out to greet you when we come into the Chamber, but I haven't seen it in a while."

Harry paused, looking for the right words. He wasn't worried about Hermione reporting to Dumbledore anymore – in fairness, he never should have been – but he could imagine anyone questioning _that_ particular decision. A decision he'd made without consulting anyone else. Though apprehensive, he settled on honesty.

"It's not down there. I let him out."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "What do you mean you _let it out?"_

"Did I ever tell you that the twin waterfalls in the lake cavern are connected to the Black Lake?"

She leaned forward, their faces inches apart. She was fuming. "You let the basilisk out into the Black Lake?" she hissed.

Harry scoffed. "Of course not. The Lake is the territory of the giant squid." He cleared his throat. "I told him to go to the Forbidden Forest."

Hermione fell back, letting out a whistling breath. "I don't know whether to strangle you now or after you summon it back to the Chamber. Do you have any _idea-"_ She stopped and threw up her hands and got up, pacing angrily. "Are you bereft of your senses?"

"Right," Harry said. "Because a basilisk is a dangerous beast."

"Exactly!"

"As opposed to acromantulas, hostile centaurs and whatever else dwells in those woods."

Hermione wasn't fooled. "Don't try to spin this."

"Hermione, I didn't do it to defy Dumbledore, or thoughtlessly, or on a whim. He's there for a very specific purpose."

He laid out his suspicions – after Malfoy bolted, Voldemort likely recruited another spy among the students. He told her about the 'trespasser' the Forest's snakes spoke off and assured her that he'd given the basilisk precise instructions.

"He won't attack anyone. I meet him every few days and note the dates the trespasser appears, and he showed me the route they take. It's a regular trail, Hermione, and the best part – there's more than one of them."

Hermione had bees listening intently, her face creased with concern and curiosity – she probably hadn't been expecting anything concrete. Harry could sympathise – despite the basilisk's apparent intelligence, he himself had been sceptical in the beginning.

"More than one?" Hermione repeated.

Harry smiled, baring his teeth. "More than trespasser. The basilisk isn't very apt at descriptions, but I think I can say that there are two – a guy and a girl."

"How can you be sure?"

"I can't, not all the way," Harry said, shrugging. "I'll have to see for myself. Either one of them – it's always only one, they've never gone together – walks that trail every week, on one of the weekend nights. I'm going to stake out the path and hopefully catch one of them. But first, I want to know what they do out there. I'm guessing they're meeting with a Death Eater, but they could be dancing naked around a tree for all I know."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"Well, now that you know, I suppose there's no harm in bringing Ron and Ginny in on this," Harry said. "I… Let's hold off telling anyone else. We can alert the Order once there's something to report."

They were both silent for a time, Harry expectant, Hermione uncertain. Finally, she extended a hand and pulled him up to his feet.

"Let's go down for dinner. I don't want to think about this on an empty stomach."

~~oOo~~

Saturday dawned cold, under a fresh sheet of snow. Harry carefully started moving around, beginning with his neck and fingers. The fur cloak he wore had kept him from freezing, but the cold had still numbed him enough that after spending the last three hours in one position, he felt like a statue. He reached into a pocket and uncorked a vial of the blue potion and downed it in one gulp.

"I should have taken a bottle of Firewhiskey," he muttered, gazing over the immediate surroundings. The Forest was quiet, though he wouldn't know if it was its natural state on a winter morning, or if the basilisk had chased away all other creatures.

His breath turned into fog, obscuring his glasses for a moment. Once his view cleared up, he shook off the snow that had covered his shoulders and hood, swung his legs over to one side of the branch he was sitting on and slid off. The ancient tree he'd used as his perch didn't seem to notice the load off its limb as Harry landed below, legs bent, and into a roll that took him to the base of the mound upon which the tree stood. He turned around to look up at it. He'd have to find a better spot next time. It was a great vantage point, but the height had exposed him to the biting, cold wind all night.

Between himself and the basilisk – which fared surprisingly well out in the cold – he was sure they would have seen the 'trespasser' coming or going. There were two more nights left in the weekend. Within the next two days, he would have one of Voldemort's spies.

He had told Ron, Ginny and Hermione where he was going. They had protested, of course (Ron demanded to join him, Ginny insisted it was too dangerous, while Hermione's objections seemed to lack a solid point), but Harry decided on going alone, at least the first night.

This part of the Forest approached the slope that met the Black Lake at the bottom. The trees here were old and thick, unlike the tall, spire-like, naked ones that dominated the acromantulas' lair. Harry found another reason why the Forest was Forbidden – it was much larger than it seemed viewed from above, as it would have to be to house all the dangers that were said to inhabit it. Harry was still quite close to the edge. He'd never gone in further than the spider pit – who knew how much more there was beyond it.

Imbuing his voice with magic, Harry spoke a summons in Parseltongue. He warmed himself up by circling the old tree he'd spent the night on while he waited for the basilisk to come.

Minutes passed and he expanded the circle he was pacing around. Shortly, he came upon a naked spot, a ridge void of vegetation, save for brown thornbushes. The hard spikes gleamed coldly as the pinks and violets gave way before the vibrant shield of the sun emerging onto a cloudless sky, a rare sight at Hogwarts this time of year. The entire Forest seemed to possess an electrifying, fresh scent of rebirth after last night's storm.

Harry broke off a single thorn from the bush and was surprised to see one of the branches _move._ A solitary bowtruckle scurried up his arm and perched upon his head. Harry squinted at a pair of tiny, black eyes as the creature leaned down from his hair upside down. A single, scythe-like finger tapped the left lens of his glasses.

"Hello there, little fella," Harry said, intrigued. Just then, the bowtruckle went rigid, staring out into the Forest – and promptly leapt from his head back into the thornbush. Harry winced as sharp claws raked his scalp. The tiny thing moved through the thornbush so vigorously that it shook. The creature then jumped from one bush to the next and from there to the nearest tree and Harry lost track of it. Glancing down the ridge, he saw what the bowtruckle had been fleeing from.

The basilisk slithered between the trees. Its blue scales, wet from the snow, shone like rough gems in the winter sunlight. Harry came down to meet it. The stillness of the Forest stood in stark contrast to the muscles rippling under the scaly skin as the basilisk coiled itself around Harry's tree tight enough to make the old giant groan. Apparently satisfied with this sign of the Forest's submission, the serpent relaxed the embrace and lowered its massive head, one eye staring at Harry while the forked tongue tasted the air.

 _"Master."_

 _"Did you see anything on your way here?"_

 _"Strange creature. Four-legged and starved. Skin in great flaps at its sides."_

Harry skipped figuring out the vague description.

 _"What about the trespasser?"_

 _"No sign, Master. He did not come."_

Harry brushed a gloved hand along the scales. _"I'll be back tonight."_

The basilisk winked and turned away to plunge into the depths of the Forest. Harry extended his palm towards the great tree and the Firebolt zoomed into view from between the naked branches, flying into his hand. Harry mounted and kicked off, the cold air biting his face mercilessly as he gained speed on ascent. He flew low over the Forest, brushing the treetops with his boots. He took a few lazy turns when he thought he spotted something moving below, but was still at the castle before long.

 _I haven't flown enough this year._

Angelina was predictably furious whenever he missed a team practice, but she kept him on the roster despite her oft repeated assurances that she'd throw him out if he failed to show up one more time. He was still the best Seeker at Hogwarts and Angelina desired the Cup more than she wanted Harry to project the team spirit.

He accelerated, lying flat on the handle, and circled the castle twice more before landing in the courtyard. The trespasser hadn't shown and he had Snape to look forward to in the evening, but it was a Hogsmeade weekend. He could catch a few hours of sleep and be up in time to leave with the others.

No one was up at seven on a Saturday, so he made it back to the Gryffindor Tower unimpeded. He sneaked into the dorm quietly, shed his clothes and promptly collapsed on the bed.

Ron shook him awake at dinnertime.

"Get up, lazy! It's almost time to go."

Feeling blindly for his glasses, Harry took a moment to find that he'd never taken them off and sat up. "Anyone else here?"

Ron shook his head. "Any luck with… the trespasser?"

"I would have told you right away if there was anything to tell."

"You could have used another pair of eyes out there, eh?"

Harry ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "I'll think about it."

Ron scoffed. "You know what, go ahead and think all you want. I'm coming with you tonight."

"Fine, fine! But don't say I didn't warn you. It was incredibly boring and incredibly cold."

"At least I'll be doing something."

By the time Harry got dressed for Hogsmeade, it was nearly end of the dinner hour. He found Ron and Hermione down in the Common Room, to his surprise, locked in a game of chess.

"There you are," Ron said, with a slight edge of irritation to his voice. "We've been waiting forever."

"Yeah, sorry. Where's Ginny?"

"Went ahead with the other fourth-years. Did you know she could play?" Ron asked, pointing at Hermione.

Harry came over, scrutinised the chessboard and shrugged. "It's not a particularly complicated game, mate."

"No, I mean she can _play."_

"Hidden talents, Hermione?" Harry asked, grinning.

She stood, gathering her coat. "I used to play with my dad."

Harry looked away, then at his feet, not knowing what to say. He wasn't sure how sore that wound still was.

"Oh, no." Hermione hooked her arm through his and pulled Ron out of his chair as well. "I am not made of glass, _Harry."_ She turned to Ron. "And I don't want anyone moping, _Ron._ We're going to Hogsmeade and we're going to forget about everything that doesn't have anything to do with Honeydukes or Butterbeer. Got it?"

The determination looked so comical on her face that Harry couldn't help but grin in response. "Yes, ma'am."

They left the Tower together, Harry and Ron flanking Hermione. Just the three of them and no one, nothing else. Like years ago, when they had first met, in simpler times.

The road to Hogsmeade was being patrolled by Aurors, a good number of them were also in the town itself, most concentrated around the High Street. Frankly, Harry was surprised Hogsmeade visits hadn't been suspended entirely. He kept his wand handy for a quick draw, just in case. They popped into every second shop, it seemed, after one of them realised they needed to restock on ink and quills, or required a set of fireproof vials, or a new lens for their telescope. The afternoon hours bled away as they talked about idle things, though inevitably, more serious topics came up – it was all but impossible to avoid steered well clear off anything that had made it into the Prophet in the last days, sharing laughs and greetings with other students. Harry summoned an expression of guarded politeness when they encountered Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini near Zonko's.

"Potter, Granger… Weasley," Greengrass greeted, taking the initiative. Zabini offered a stiff nod.

"Greengrass, Zabini," Harry replied. "You two make a lovely couple."

Greengrass smiled sweetly, though there was a flash of danger in her eyes. She climbed to her tiptoes and pecked Zabini on the cheek. "Thank you. I think so as well."

"Is it _wise_ for you to be seen associating with us?" Harry asked slowly.

"My housemates will think I'm planning something nefarious and fooling you, so I'll be safe. I don't care about the rest. Have a nice day."

With that, they parted ways.

"That was weird," proclaimed Ron.

"Is she still… cooperating?" Hermione asked, looking over her shoulder at the Slytherins.

"The Greegrasses don't have a lot of access, but they've been passing Sirius some information. Little of it has been useful, but the Order's piecing together some things. We might be able to strike at an important target soon, if plans pan out."

"What kind of target?"

Harry leaned in and whispered two words in Hermione's ear. She in turn passed it on to Ron.

"Finally," Ron said.

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand. "He could be there, yes?"

Harry nodded.

"Good." She said nothing more on the matter.

"Let's pop into the Three Broomsticks," Ron proposed. "I'm famished."

"When are you not?"

"Oi!"

Nevertheless, they took course for the inn. As always on a Hogsmeade weekend, the place was packed to the brim. It didn't look like they'd be able to find a table.

"Hey, Harry, Ron, Hermione! Over here!"

Neville was out of his seat, beckoning them over. Squinting, Harry saw several others in his booth, but it looked like they had seats to spare.

"Neville!" Ron shouted back, readily pushing through the crowd. He was already taller than most seventh-years and formed them a path through the throng of patrons.

"Hi, guys – and girls. Dean, mate, scoot over…"

The group at the table consisted of Neville, Seamus, Dean, Justin Finch-Fletchley and two Ravenclaws, both girls – Dean had his arm around one of them. The Ravenclaws were Lisa Turpin, from Hermione's Arithmancy class and Jessie Bradley, a beater on the House team and Dean's current companion. Harry found himself seated at the edge of the bench and was sent off to order a round of Butterbeer for everyone and a bowl of extra-spicy chicken wings. Soon enough, they were all talking over drinks and food.

Ron and Hermione entered the conversation comfortably, but Harry was left feeling like a fifth wheel, even when the topic turned to quidditch. He hadn't kept up with the happenings of the quidditch leagues and his expertise was limited to his rarely interactive position on the Gryffindor team and _Quidditch Through The Ages._ He'd never been good at smalltalk and casual acquaintances and idle things one would pick up from others or the back pages of the Prophet, or programmes on the Wireless. Dark Arts didn't make for a good conversation starter. His frequent absences from Hogwarts did nothing to lessen his growing isolation from the other students.

Following several failed attempts to enter the lively banter, he opted for the coward's way out. What would be a good excuse? Sorry, I think I left my coin purse at Honeydukes? I saw a friend in the crowd, be right back? Perhaps the universal escape to the bathroom and never returning? Whatever he decided on, it would make things even stranger in the dorm with the guys.

"Hi, everyone," came a familiar voice. Ginny had appeared out of nowhere. He was unprepared for her to plop into his lap, but did his best not to act like a fish out of water, even though that was exactly how he felt. Ginny was clearly popular – everyone at the table accepted her arrival with enthusiasm.

"You won't mind if I steal him away, will you?" Ginny asked with a brilliant smile. Harry attempted to summon some cheer to his face.

Without waiting for a reply, Ginny slid off his lap and pulled him out of his seat. As they ploughed through the crowd, Harry heard Seamus' lewd remark ("She's turned into a nice bird"), followed by a thwack, a yelp of pain and an indignant "That's my sister!" from Ron. The table broke into laughter.

To Harry's relief, Ginny steered him towards the exit – he dreaded the prospect of facing a bunch of Ginny's friends on his own. Once outside, she draped his arm around her shoulders and leaned into him as they walked up the High Street. For a while, neither said anything and Harry's nerves settled after the wracking environment of the Three Broomsticks. This… This was nice. Just enjoying each other's company.

They reached the edge of the town and Ginny stopped not far from the path that led to the Shrieking Shack. They were alone; the first of the Auror lookouts on the road kept watch around the bend, obscured from view by the sparsely growing trees and shrubs. Harry once again checked the ease of the draw on his wand. Better safe than-

Ginny seized his jacket and pulled him close, capturing his lips with her own. She pressed her body against his, awakening impulses Harry had never experienced before. His glasses were askew on his nose as he slid his fingers into Ginny's hair.

They had never kissed like this. Lust overcame all other stimuli as their hands roamed each other's bodies. At first Harry hesitated when his own travelled down to Ginny's bum, but she only kissed him harder. They came up for air and she bit his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, then licked it off.

"That was… wow," he said, gasping for breath.

Ginny bit the inside of her cheek. "I thought you deserved one last good snog before I broke up with you."

All the passion, heat, lust, was extinguished instantly, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on top of him.

"What?" he stammered.

Ginny extricated herself from their embrace, sighing in a wholly unromantic fashion. "I like you, Harry..."

He could hear the 'but' coming before it left her lips, pink and puckered after their snog.

"...but that's not good enough."

Harry stuck his hands into his pockets. "Okay…"

"I'm sorry you have to hear this from me, but truth is, you're a lousy boyfriend."

He froze in place – it had nothing to do with the cold. Meanwhile, Ginny went on.

"...and I'm not saying I don't admire what you do with the Order, but I want to date a nice boy who is interested in me, not a soldier."

"I _am_ interested in you," he blurted out.

She crossed her arms. "All we've done is kiss and duel in the Chamber of Secrets." She mercilessly laid out the charges, which boiled down to her final conclusion. "I get the impression that you don't have time for a girlfriend right now. It's not your fault," she stressed, "but it's not mine either. I understand that what you're doing is important. You're not the flowers and dates type, but I _like_ flowers and I want dates. I'm sorry, Harry. We'll always be friends."

She patted his arm reassuringly and made her way back to Hogsmeade. Harry watched her until she disappeared behind a building and commenced the climb back up to Hogwarts, marching through ankle-deep snow at a furious pace. He wasn't going back to Ron, Hermione and the others, not after this. No, he needed to _clear his head._

For the first time in his life, he was looking forward to seeing Snape.

~~oOo~~

The Potions Master was thankfully in his office, even though Harry was early. The door swung open. Snape didn't comment on his unscheduled appearance.

"Potter."

"Professor. I'm ready for my remedial Potions instruction."

Snape pursed his lips. "Potter, if anger manifested as heat, you would be melting the floor. Come back on time, once you've calmed down."

He pulled the door shut, but Harry stuck his boot in front of it.

"I need to purge something from my head. Occlumency is just what I need right now."

"You're distracted."

"Believe me, sir, I couldn't possibly be more focused."

Snape regarded him critically and the door slammed shut. Harry was raising his fist to knock again when it opened.

Snape dropped a key into his hand. "When I arrive in the classroom in ten minutes, I shall see your workstation prepared and yourself ready to brew. Won't I, Potter?"

"Yes, sir."

The door closed again. Harry stormed towards the Potions dungeon, where he readied his table in record time, grabbed his cauldron from the storage closet, raided the supply cabinets for ingredients – _manticore hair, lionflower petals, ironwood seeds…_ By the time Snape walked in, followed inevitably by his billowing cloak, Harry was already boiling water with thornbush berries sliced in.

"Since you claim to be so _focused,_ I expect you to complete the potion correctly, to an _acceptable_ standard, because that's what you will be drinking for the next week. Get to work."

Work Harry did, brewing his potion from memory. Snape periodically came up with a question – for once, Harry was certain of his answers. At the end of the hour, he chilled the cauldron with a Cooling Charm, as per the last point of the recipe, and awaited Snape's verdict. The Potions Master dipped a disposable probe into the potion and observed the blue liquid dripping from it.

"Perhaps you should come to my class riled up every time. It appears that if you direct your anger at your work instead of myself, you're capable of doing something properly."

Harry's eyes flew wide open. He stared at Snape with unrestrained shock. "I- _really?"_

"The potion is as well brewed as it needs to be for effectiveness. Tell me, Potter, why you never demonstrate similar aptitude in class, seeing as you've obviously managed to learn _something_ of what I've been teaching."

Snape didn't actually care for his reply. He summoned several empty vials and portioned the contents of the cauldron between them. Finally, he waved his wand and all the tables rode up to the walls.

"Get your wand out, Potter. Let's see if you can score a double success tonight."

Harry thought there was a bit less contempt in Snape's voice than usually, but he wasn't granted time to dwell on the fact that Snape had just called something he had done a success. The Potions Master didn't play around – not that he ever had during these lessons, but Harry had unwittingly given him a clear target. From the moment he felt the spell probe his mind, Harry had to duck and hide today's events from Snape's unrelenting pursuit of them. He couldn't muster a sturdy enough defence. He was improving, but Snape dictated the pace, always stealing another bit of the memory, pressing on weaknesses, exposing where Harry was vulnerable. It was a game to him. He could yank the memories out into the open any time he pleased, but chose instead to torture Harry with the idea, forcing him to defend them. Harry appreciated that tenacity – he learned best if he had to fight something – but he really wished Snape would choose something else to go after.

To his humiliation, Snape once again released the spell just short of Harry's defence breaking completely, taunting with his own mastery of the discipline. Harry slumped to his knees. His shirt was soaked through with sweat and only the charm he had placed on his glasses kept them from slipping to the tip of his nose. Snape wasn't even breathing harder.

"Get up, Potter."

"Aren't we done for tonight?" He wasn't really asking. His watch was showing they were more than an hour past their usual schedule.

"Nonsense. Gather yourself."

Harry did, and Snape came closer. "After weeks of consistent mediocrity, you've achieved a breakthrough. We both know you're capable of expelling me, Potter, so _do it_ – and we'll both go to sleep knowing we haven't wasted another evening of our lives."

Snape resumed his position at the far end of the classroom. "One successful repulsion, Potter – do that, and you have my permission to sleep in tomorrow," he added, the words adorned with a typical sneer.

"And here I thought we were becoming such good friends, Professor."

 _"Legilimens."_

Once again, Snape tore at his resolve, each bite revealing more and more of the afternoon to Snape's gaze: Harry and Ginny at the table, Ginny sitting in his lap – leaving Three Broomsticks, holding hands – Ginny grabbing his jacket-

 _HE WILL NOT SEE THIS._

A flash deposited them back in the dungeon. This time, Harry remained standing. He grinned at Snape, who was wearing a scowl that somehow seemed congratulatory, in a way.

"Well done. You are now a better wizard than James Potter ever was. Perhaps there is something-" His voice trailed off.

"Something… what, Professor?"

Snape grimaced. "Ready yourself, Potter. Again!"

Harry bristled. "You said we'd be done if-"

"I said nothing of the kind," Snape interrupted. "You repelled me once – congratulations. Our work's far from completion. _Like I said,_ you can sleep it off tomorrow."

Harry leaned against a table, sweat dripping from his nose and chin. "I don't know if I can do it again tonight."

"Bah! You're tired, Potter? It's very convenient, having a warm bed to come back to after every outing," Snape drawled with disdain. "Do you think the Dark Lord will excuse you if you're _tired?_ That's precisely when he'll double his efforts."

Harry hated admitting it, but there Snape was right, damn him.

"You know, Potter, for all of Black's shortcomings, stamina isn't one of them."

Harry snapped up, his eyes alight with sudden anger. He had thought they were past this. Snape had been _tolerable_ this year, after the letter…

"Am I to understand that the mutt is stronger than you? Either one, mind – Lupin's just as much of a mongrel, but he's never backed down from a challenge…"

"Shut the hell up, _Snivellus,"_ Harry growled acidly. "Either of them is worth a dozen of you."

Snape sneered and laughed. "You'd like to think so, Potter, but you don't know them like I do. Your friendly dogs are far from the noble warriors you see them as."

This time, Harry smiled. "Hold on. You were talking about my dad. Something – perhaps there's something of _my mother_ in me. That's what you were going to say, isn't it?"

The ugly grimace that filled Snape's face told Harry everything he needed to know. He chortled with with malicious glee. "I don't believe this. Is this why you're such a miserable wretch? Why you've been so petty, so _hurt?_ Because I look like my dad-"

"Potter, _shut up."_

"-you weren't just rivals in school, you were rivals in _love…"_

"One more word, I swear…"

Harry wasn't listening. This was his chance to repay that slime for every barb, every time he'd wanted to choke the life out of the greasy bastard, their agreement be damned…

"You had the hots for my mother, but my dad was better – just like he was better than you at everything, I bet-"

When Snape cast his spell, Harry reacted instinctively.

 _"Legilimens!"_

"Protego!"

There were two coherent elements to the chaos that reigned in Snape's thoughts – Lily Potter and infernal, unrestrained _rage._ Harry could barely make out what he was seeing, the memories flew by so fast – but the flurry slowed down, the rage accompanied by grief and most of all, regret. Regret of the kind that Harry had never experienced, a longing more piercing than a banshee's howl, guilt that could tear the very soul apart into a thousand slivers.

~~oOo~~

The sky was pouring down an ocean's worth of tears – a fitting background, Severus thought. It still wasn't enough. No display of grief, no passionate gesture, no amount of prayers would return her to life, so he did nothing. He stood stoic as a statue, watching the casket being lowered into the ground, sent off by the sad tones of phoenix song.

Dumbledore stood nearby. Severus was grateful for this shield as Lupin stalked towards them. Severus would match himself against any peer wand for wand, but he had no desire to face a furious werewolf.

"What is he doing here, Dumbledore?" Lupin demanded, fists clenched so tightly that Severus was expecting blood to burst. "How _dare_ he show his face?"

"Remus, this is neither the time nor place to settle old scores," Dumbledore said calmly.

Lupin's eyes looked ready to bulge right out of his skull. "Old scores? This fucking son-of-a-whore isn't fit to lick the mud from her gravestone."

Other mourners were beginning to notice the brewing disturbance. Severus decided it was prudent to vacate the premises. He could pay his respects later, in solitude.

~~oOo~~

Harry watched in morbid fascination, nagged on by a need to _know_ as the scene changed to one he recognised from months ago.

~~oOo~~

The house looked like someone had detonated a bomb inside. Swathes of walls were missing, much of the roof had caved in, the entire ruin was smoking and smothered in the stench of death.

Severus made his way inside and scouted the ground floor, finding nothing but Potter's charred corpse lying in a heap of debris – of no concern to him. Potter didn't matter.

Where was she?

He struggled to climb up the ruined staircase – he didn't dare restore it with magic while other, powerful magic lingered. He heard a baby's cry and rushed into the nursery. Inside was a bundle of tattered robes, a wand he recognised as the Dark Lord's – how could this be? What magic had been wrought here?

But none of it mattered, the infant Harry Potter wailing in his crib didn't matter, because his mother was dead. Lily was dead, even after he had made his plea to the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord had agreed, as long as he got the child…

~~oOo~~

Harry felt Snape's fury burning his back, but the Potions Master was too great a storm at the moment to clear _his_ mind, and Harry knew he was on the precipice of finding something important, perhaps the most important memory he would ever see.

~~oOo~~

 _"...born to those who have thrice defied him…"_

"Spying at the door, are we?"

Severus spun on his heel, reaching for his wand, but whoever had discovered him had the element of surprise. His wand flew out of his hand and he balked seeing just it was that had disarmed him.

 _"...as the seventh months dies…"_

Aberforth Dumbledore grabbed the front of Severus' robe and threw him down the stairs. He groaned in pain when he stopped at the bottom of the narrow, winding staircase as his wand landed next to him with a clutter.

"Remove your filthy hide from my pub, Snape, before I remove it from _you."_

Severus didn't think twice about running. Aberforth Dumbledore wasn't a wizard to be crossed. He was lucky to escape unscathed – and he wouldn't be returning empty-handed. The Dark Lord would reward him…

~~oOo~~

Harry was violently expelled from Snape's mind, landing back in the classroom with a scream, Snape's magic burning at his temples. He looked up. The Potions Master stood bracing himself against the wall, deathly pale.

"You were not supposed to see this," he whispered. "Ever."

Harry stood, finding the right grip on his wand. Snape had been right. He couldn't afford to be tired now.

"But I did see it." Harry raised his wand in a slow, deliberate gesture. A trial and conviction in the bend of his wrist. The judgment at the tips of his fingers. "You gave Voldemort the prophecy. You led him to me. My family is _dead_ because of _you."_

"You were not supposed to know," Snape mumbled again.

Harry knew the feeling that came over him. He'd felt it before, when he decided to kill Peter. Rage so violent that it left nothing but calm confidence. Hatred so chilling that everything froze still – the world, time itself, everything outside this room was immaterial. There was only the clear, determined purpose, a decision made in a flash so instantaneous that it seemed to have always been there, simply waiting to be unearthed.

"Now you die."


	25. CHAPTER EIGHT: Scars Old And New, Part 2

**CHAPTER EIGHT: Scars Old And New**

 **Part 2**

It was still dark when Harry made the decision to return to the castle.

"It's almost six in the morning, Ron. If the trespasser hasn't shown up by now, I doubt it'll happen."

Ron grunted, though Harry wasn't sure if he was agreeing or not.

"But now we're definitely getting one of them tonight," he added.

Another grunt. Harry allowed himself a smirk. Ron's eagerness had cooled quickly once the cold set in.

Harry summoned the Firebolt. Ron used the charm to get his – the spellwork on the school Cleansweep wasn't nearly as sharp as the Firebolt's.

Harry offered a few parting words to the basilisk and they took off. Ron was a pretty good flier – the fruit of a lifetimes of pick-up games – but with the old Cleansweep, which had a tendency to veer left at higher speeds (a property talented players exploited to great effect on the pitch), they assumed a sedate pace.

They landed in the stadium, where Ron stored the Cleansweep in the Gryffindor locker room and they walked the rest of the way to the castle, clearing their path with spells. Inside the castle, they were crossing the Entrance Hall just as Harry had to duck under a low-flying owl. The black bird dove straight for his head, then spread its impressive wingspan and perched nearby on the railing of the staircase, nailing Harry with an intense stare. A tightly rolled piece of parchment was tied to its leg.

Harry and Ron exchanged dubious looks.

"Bit early for post," Ron muttered. He took the Firebolt. "I'll hold that. The bird seems to want you."

Harry approached the ferocious-looking owl apprehensively. The bird tilted its head, eyeing him critically. It snapped its beak when he came closer, but allowed him to get the scroll, taking flight immediately, back through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Harry unrolled the parchment. The message had been written in blocky letters and apparently with the non-dominant hand. It was just a few sentences, but each word chilled his blood to ice. He spared a nervous glance towards the top of the Grand Staircase, but there wasn't anyone there. He pocketed the message with shaking hands.

"Ron, I need you to get up to the Tower and grab my trunk. Don't worry about anything else, just the trunk and my broom. Then meet me in the Chamber of Secrets."

Ron asked no questions, for which Harry was grateful. He wouldn't know how to explain the letter – he barely understood it himself. Ron mounted the Firebolt and shot up through the Grand Staircase.

Harry took the fastest route he knew to Myrtle's bathroom, opened the secret room Dumbledore had constructed and in short time he was walking through the circular door of the Chamber, thoughts racing.

He had no way of knowing whether the anonymous message was true at all — it could be deception. If the message was a trap, there would be no harm done by taking precautions. If it was true… he couldn't afford to stay at Hogwarts.

He stood at the edge of the pond at Slytherin's feet and pointed his wand at the center of it, silently casting magic as he peeked over his shoulder at the entrance. For all he knew, the next person walking through the door could be Dumbledore, not Ron.

The surface of pond broke quietly, parting over a shallow, circular basin that emerged from it. Bigger than a dinnerplate, the basin was made of smooth bronze, its rim covered in interlocking runes. The pensieve, gifted to him by Dumbledore, held his best-kept secrets – Voldemort's memories. They resembled a liquid at first glance, but Harry knew no words to describe the silvery substance. The memories swirled as he summoned the pensieve closer. The basin levitated in front of him, held aloft by its own magic.

At a tug of his magical sense, Harry turned around in a flash, assuming a duelist's stance. Ron leapt off the Firebolt, hauling the trunk with him.

"Harry, what is _that?"_

"A pensieve. You store memories in it," Harry explained hastily, opening the trunk. "I'm sorry, Ron, but I have no time."

"Can you at least tell me-"

"If Dumbledore asks, don't tell him anything," Harry interrupted, gently guiding the pensieve into the trunk and securing it with a spell. "Just say nothing."

He left a dumbstruck Ron behind, lashing the trunk to the Firebolt with a Sticking Charm. Ron had already spelled it to be lighter. With haste, Harry took off across the Chamber and into the low tunnel leading to the lake cavern. He sped across the still water – the rumbling of the waterfalls grew as he approached them.

He hovered in front of the falls and whispered, _"Open."_

The water kept flowing, but now the waterway that sucked water back up to the Black Lake split as if an invisible blade of air was pushing the water up against the perimeter of the tunnel. Without hesitation, Harry guided the Firebolt into the darkness, lighting his way with an Illumination Charm. He flew as fast as he dared in the narrow passage, mindful of several sharp turns he knew were coming up. He travelled inside a tube of upwards-flowing water, deaf to all other sounds. Under his breath, he counted seconds after he passed the last turn. He was approaching the mouth of the tunnel. At the end of it, the water spiralled into a whirling cone of twisting water. He took a deep breath and flew right into the middle of it. A few exhilarating, terrifying seconds later he broke the surface of the Black Lake, propelled there by the whirpool. He was no wetter than he had been moments before.

He kept low and made his way for the nearest shore, his trunk dangling from the broom's shaft. For a moment he thought he saw the silhouette of the squid beneath him, but he blinked and it was gone.

The Firebolt quickly carried him to Hogsmeade, where he barrelled into the Owl Post Office and badgered the grumpy night clerk until the man reached beneath the counter for a bag of Floo powder. Harry dug into his pockets and slapped a sickle down in front of the man.

"Keep the change."

Within seconds he found himself in the Leaky Cauldron, where he summoned the Knight Bus and told the driver to take him to the general neighborhood of Grimmauld Place. He supposed he looked mighty odd, running through the street carrying a broom and a trunk, but the Statute of Secrecy was the least of his worries right now.

He approached the Order's headquarters from the back, through the narrow alley that took him from the parallel street to Number Twelve's back yard. He tossed the featherlight trunk and the Firebolt over the fence and pulled himself up over it.

He walked into the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley busying herself with Cleaning Charms.

"Harry! What are you doing here?"

"Where's Sirius?" he asked bluntly.

"As far as I know, he and Sturgis haven't returned yet. Harry, why are you not-"

He ignored the woman and made his way upstairs, to the room he used to share with Ron. He dumped the trunk and the broom there and climbed to the top of the house, throwing open the balcony door. Buckbeak protested the sudden invasion of cold air with an irritated squawk.

"Sorry, boy, but I need to know the moment Sirius is back."

He spent the next minute pacing, scanning the streets below, until he realised just who was in the house with him. He bolted back downstairs, finding Mrs. Weasley about to open a Floo connection.

"Hogw-" she began, but her words were cut short when Harry nailed her with a stunner.

Just then, the front door opened and Harry rushed into the hall to see a rather irritated-looking Sirius. Sturgis came in next.

Sirius stared at him, blinking intensely. "Harry? What are you doing here?"

Harry tossed him the crumpled parchment. Sirius eyes trailed over the message, growing wider with each line. Even though Harry had only read it once, it was burned into his memory, still fresh.

 _Potter,_

 _Last night, you learned that Severus Snape was the one who informed Voldemort of the prophecy. You tried to kill Snape. Dumbledore altered your memory. Snape reported to the Dark Lord, which is how I know about it all._

 _Use this information wisely._

 _Death Eater_

Sirius looked up at him, his face drained of colour, eyes sparkling with a brewing storm. "When did you get this?" he asked quietly.

"Less than a half hour ago," Harry said. "Dumbledore may not know I'm gone yet."

"Well," Sirius growled. "Let's hope for Dumbledore's sake this is some kind of hoax. If it isn't-"

"Dumbledore betrayed us," Harry finished for him. Their eyes met, both pairs burning, their faces hard. "If it's true, Snape dies."

~~oOo~~

Sirius closed a fist around the letter. He very nearly conjured a spark to burn it to cinders, but stopped just in time. He spun around to face Sturgis, who had tactfully retreated back to the door.

"Sturgis," he said, drawing out the name, still reeling after their adventure in Germany. Mulciber had tracked them and attacked twice more before the force of mercenaries and fellow Hit-wizards Sturgis had marshaled persuaded him to retreat. Benedict Hessberg was currently enjoying the hospitality of a friend who lived under the safety umbrella of a Fidelius Charm.

"Yes?"

Sirius blinked, Sturgis' voice breaking him out of his thoughts.

"In short time, you may have to choose between us and Dumbledore. Who will you stand with?"

Sturgis raised his chin, a gesture that portrayed a perfect marriage of arrogance and nonchalance. A fitting look on him, Sirius thought, now that he knew who his father was.

"I don't owe Albus Dumbledore allegiance, personal or any other kind."

It wasn't the first remark that made Sirius question just how much of a Hessberg Sturgis Podmore was. In light of this revelation, many comments Sirius had heard from him took on a new meaning.

"I have to know," he stressed. "I don't enjoy putting you in this position, but right now, if you're not with us, I must assume you're against us."

A tense moment followed, during which Harry came to stand by his side, looking expectant. Sirius had no ground to resent Harry's wanting Sturgis to join them. Their relationship was largely unknown to anyone besides the two of them.

Sturgis extended an open palm. "I can tell you once I know what kind of decision I'm making," he said, directing a meaningful look at Sirius' fist holding the Death Eater's letter. After a moment's hesitation, Sirius tossed it to Sturgis.

The Hit-wizard gave no visible reaction to its contents, but then looked at Harry with a gleam of conviction in his eyes. "If true, this means that Severus Snape inadvertently sentenced your family to death." It wasn't a question.

"Snape's a smart man," Harry replied sternly. "He must have known he was damning _someone."_

"You already seem convinced the letter is genuine," Sturgis remarked, returning it. Sirius had a sharp reply ready, but Sturgis wasn't finished. "Regardless, he carries Voldemort's brand. There is a crime behind it he never answered for, and the accusation you make against him now deserves to be heard." He nodded slowly. "In this matter, my wand is yours."

It didn't escape Sirius' notice that the words were directed solely at Harry. As reluctant as Sturgis had seemed when the Order was reconvened months ago, he was willing enough to favour his godson. Sirius wondered in that instant who would emerge as the eventual leader of their newly founded faction. Just like James, Harry was continually being put in front, though he seemed to cope with that role far better than his father.

"Glad we've settled that," Sirius said. "Harry, is there anyone else in the house?"

Harry cast an apprehensive glance over his shoulder. "Mrs. Weasley. I stunned her. She was going to firecall Hogwarts."

Molly lay sprawled on the carpet where she had collapsed, a handful of Floo powder scattered about.

"Sturgis," Sirius spoke, not raising his eyes from Molly's unconscious form, "I need you to speak to Arthur Weasley. Tell him that he and his wife can't stay here anymore."

The Hit-wizard left promptly, without asking for further details. Sirius sat Molly up on the sofa and revived her. Only delaying long enough to get her bearings, she launched into a tirade that grew more heated with each indignant word. Sirius sighed quietly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Prewetts – quick to talk, slow to do. He thrust his wand with purpose – the Imperius Curse took hold without fail.

"Gather your things and get _out."_

Molly Weasley obediently scurried upstairs.

Harry was looking at him with an expression Sirius couldn't begin to unravel. "Was that the Imperius Curse?" he asked, his voice void of emotion.

"I won't hold it against you if you judge me."

Harry said nothing, frustrating Sirius that he couldn't glean anything from that reaction. Molly returned a few minutes later, by which time had Harry retreated to the kitchen. Sirius first tossed her bags into the Floo, then lifted the Curse and pushed her through to the Burrow. As soon as the flames regained their natural palette, he ran a hand alongside the mantlepiece until he found a circular protrusion, hidden out of sight, and pressed it. The fire was kindled into a blinding intensity that purged even the leftover ash and a row of tiny holes was revealed in the tiles lining the front of the hearth.

Sirius grabbed the poker, inserted it into the central hole and turned it clockwise a quarter of a circle. The aged mechanism, no doubt rusted over and in need of proper maintenance, nonetheless worked, albeit not without a series of metallic, grating and scraping noises to announce its state of neglect. Iron bars shot up from the remaining holes, parallel to the poker, then sprouted perpendicular ones, forming a sturdy barrier. Finally, Sirius heard the hiss-and-click of the plate sliding into place that blocked off the chimney, completing the Floo-lock.

He strode out of the room and up the stairs at full steam to the first floor landing, where his despicable mother's portrait hung hidden behind a burgundy curtain. He tugged the golden cord and the curtain opened. The portrait's eyes snapped open as it instantly woke from forcibly imposed dormancy.

 _"Sirius."_ His name out of Walburga's mouth dripped with disgust as thick as tar.

"Shut your mouth, mother, or I'll burn it off the canvas." Walburga fell silent. A thin black scar encircling her left eye was a reminder that this was no idle threat.

Sirius brushed an index finger across the smooth gem topping his ring, where it sat on his left hand, invisible at all times. The artifact siphoned its power from the roots of the House of Black itself – even Moody's marvelous eye couldn't overcome that protection. The portrait sunk into the wall, covered in partly peeling wallpaper, like water absorbed by a sponge, revealing the true reason why Sirius kept it in place – it certainly wasn't because he couldn't find a suitable spell. Walburga's likeness guarded the heart of Grimmauld Place Twelve, the Black crest, made in silver, gold and obsidian. Sirius pressed his palm flat against the heraldic shield and pushed it in a fraction of an inch. The crest – the central ward anchor – reached out to him through the ring, its question a mere tickle of magic on Sirius' skin. Sirius gave his answer and the house obeyed.

The tranquility of the almost empty building vanished, replaced by the dry staccato of distant windows shuttering. Then came the squelching of locks and straining of walls, old, but just as strong as when they had been raised by Mordanis Black four hundred years ago. The House of Black was responding to the will of its Master, priming the defences that had laid dormant for so long. Dumbledore's Fidelius had been enough to protect Grimmauld Place from Voldemort – now Dumbledore himself would find it nigh impossible to force his way inside.

Sirius turned on his heel to find Harry standing several steps below, eyes wide, mouth agape.

"What in Merlin's name was that?"

Sirius flashed him a grin. "The House of Black stretching its old bones."

Harry's next question – or a dozen, probably – was cut short by the pounding on the front door.

"If I'm not mistaken," Sirius muttered, going back down past Harry, "that'll be Remus."

Indeed, the werewolf shuffled inside once Sirius ascertained his suspicion and opened the door. Remus moved briskly, hunched over, wand at his side and a worried look on his face.

"Why did you raise the defences, Sirius?" he asked without pause. "Did Voldemort-"

"No," he interrupted. "Not Voldemort. _Dumbledore."_

Remus had just finished reading the letter for the fourth time, apparently dumbstruck, when there was another knock on the door.

"You're back soon," Sirius remarked, stepping aside to let Sturgis pass.

"I caught Arthur in the Atrium," Sturgis replied, eyes wandering along the floor, walls, ceiling. "Something's changed."

"Come. We need to decide how we're going to proceed," Sirius commanded.

They settled in the kitchen over breakfast and mugs of hot chocolate, enriched by a few drops of Ogden's Firewhiskey. Isolated from the world, secured as best as they could muster, Sirius prompted Harry to tell them everything from the beginning.

Sirius' own reaction to the news that Harry had released the Chamber's basilisk into the Forbidden Forest was a pair of raised eyebrows. Sturgis, for his part, gave no sign that the news moved him at all. Remus took it much less graciously.

"Harry, _have you lost your mind?"_

"Peace, Remus," Sirius said, pulling him back down into his chair. "Remember, the basilisk obeys him."

Remus wasn't easily placated, but their joint efforts got him to settle down for now.

"Then what about this… trespasser?" Sturgis asked when Harry concluded his tale.

As Sirius listened, theories germinated in his mind. What chain of events could have led to this? What Death Eater would be willing to undermine Voldemort to get rid of Snape? Surely, Severus Snape had no shortage of enemies wherever he went. Regardless, their objective was clear. Sirius could tell from Remus' face that the werewolf had passed his own silent judgment as well. If the 'Death Eater' described truth… The world would be a merrier place without Snape. Their only obstacle, then, was Dumbledore.

"You're convinced the trespasser will be in the Forest tonight?" Sirius asked absently.

"Everything I've put together points to that."

"We'll be counting on some assumptions," Sirius said, "but I don't see another way."

He described his plan, relying on everyone to help him iron out the finer details and fill in the gaps. Within the hour, each of them could recite it on command. Now came the wait.

"We should all get some rest," Sirius decided. "I'll take the first watch."

Throughout the day, they observed almost all members of the Order approach Grimmauld Place Twelve, and then leave when their pleas, appeals and the rare threat were met with unrelenting silence. Dumbledore came late in the afternoon and seemed convinvingly apologetic – they weren't swayed. Until they knew the truth, the House of Black would remain closed to all.

Sirius didn't protest when Sturgis offered to apparate with Harry, though he wrestled with unease about letting the son of Grindelwald's general take charge of his godson. Sturgis had arguably shown himself to be more trustworthy by giving up this secret, but Sirius was certain that if Hessberg hadn't come under attack, Sturgis would have remained the mystery man. Sirius had given his tentative word to keep everything to himself, unless he found a compelling reason to break that promise. He hand't yet found such a reason in the past day, and that he wanted one to appear was a clear warning his instinct was sending him. Paradoxically, as much as he had learned, he now had even more questions for the Hit-wizard. He had been betrayed before, by a man he had trusted incomparably more than he did Sturgis Podmore. But that was a matter for another time.

Their four-man party converged on the shore of the Black Lake, where the Forbidden Forest stretched almost to the water as it cascaded down from the slope before them.

"The trespasser's trail isn't far from here," Harry said, pointing up. Sirius held back an irritated grunt. He was no stranger to tough terrain, but he avoided it if he could. He wasn't looking forward to the climb. "Don't get spooked when the basilisk arrives," Harry added. "He won't hurt you."

Sirius' shoulders trembled with an involuntary shudder. Every time the beast was close, he prayed to his ancestors that whatever magic Slytherin had employed to render it obedient wouldn't fail this time.

They started up the steep hill, the climb all the more challenging for the lack of a beaten path. Step by step, they gained elevation, trudging along without the aid of magic, wary of the possibility of Dumbledore finding them.

Sirius led the pack, Harry behind him. Their chosen way was unforgiving – the snow obscured protruding rocks and roots, threatening them with a twisted limb or a fall with each carefully measured step. Wherever the snow hadn't claimed ground, the soil was bare and slippery. The darkness didn't help. Even still, none of them complained, expelling all their strength on drawing the knee further up to rise another foot above the sparkling lake. Not even Harry, who quickly became winded and filled the air with laboured breathing, his movements slouching. He lacked Sirius and Sturgis' hardening or Remus' werewolf strength, but stubbornly didn't ask to pause to catch a breath, and swatted Sirius' hand away when he wanted to help Harry through particularly treacherous fragment. They reached the top within an exhausting half hour and stopped on an exposed ridge, populated only by thornbushes.

"Where's the trail?" Sirius asked.

"Along there," Harry replied, pointing blindly as he leaned on his knees, heaving. "There's a shallow creek… a frozen stream, just beyond those trees. That's where we'll have the best view."

The basilisk announced its arrival with a hiss and the creaking of snow under its massive body. Sturgis, who hadn't met the creature yet, cautiously hung back, though he stared with unabashed curiosity.

They positioned themselves in the corners of a square, the centre of which was where Harry was predicting the trespasser would cross the aforementioned creek. The basilisk had been sent off elsewhere. An hour passed, then another. Sirius forbade Warming Charms – the less magic they used, the better chance they had of avoiding detection.

Sirius wasn't particularly bothered by the cold. Azkaban had prepared him for the depths of a frozen hell. He knew Remus would be just fine and somehow he doubted a veteran Hit-wizard would be bested by unpleasant weather. He was left wondering how Harry was faring. So lost in thought, he almost missed the cloaked figure walking past him, no more than thirty feet away. The trespasser was wearing a hood and looking down in front, watching his step, which was likely why Sirius hadn't been spotted.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt an invisible hand squeeze his arm. That would be Harry, hidden under his marvelous Cloak. He had never shared how he'd managed to get even more out of the artifact that James.

The plan called for Harry – intimately familiar with the Cloak's capabilities – to follow the spy closely, leaving a trail for the rest of them. If the spy was meeting with a Death Eater, they would snatch both.

Sirius Silenced his steps and waited for an impossibly long minute, then began walking in the direction where he'd seen the spy melt away into darkness. Soon, he came upon a gently sizzling red arrowhead outlined in the snow, pointing towards the next one. By the time he found the second one, Sturgis and Remus had joined him and they walked through the quiet Forest silently, like ghosts.

"Stop," came a whisper. Harry stood pressed flush against one of the naked trees. The Cloak draped around his arms, as if perceiving the need for secrecy, had lost its usual glitter, now black as the night sky.

"Where's the basilisk?" Sirius asked.

"On the other side of that clearing."

He followed Harry's gaze. A hundred or so feet ahead, the spy stood in the bowl of a naked patch of ground, marked by a fallen tree. Sirius scanned the surrounding Forest, but his eyes couldn't pierce the darkness. He looked to Remus, but the werewolf shook his head. Thankfully, they didn't have to wait long. Remus clamped his shoulder, turning him in the right direction. Even in the black of night and at a distance, Sirius instantly recognised the man who approached the trespasser.

"How come it's always you?" Sirius whispered to himself, his breath fogging, as Mulciber struck up a hushed exchange with the hooded spy.

"Are we going?" Harry asked impatiently.

Sirius put a hand on his shoulder. "Not yet," he said, the order carrying a warning hint. If Mulciber was involved, there was a plausible chance this was a trap.

"We can't hear them anyway!" Harry hissed with irritation.

Sirius eyes widened as he realised the merit of Harry's words. If they were meeting in the dead of night, far inside the Forbidden Forest, why were they whispering, as if… _expecting_ someone.

Mulciber's head snapped up and he threw back his cloak, going for the wand in one fluid motion.

"GO!" Sirius roared, leaping forward, cursing himself for not paying closer attention. This was the best opportunity he would ever have to catch that bastard!

Mulciber once again lived up to his reputation. His wrist twisted and the surrounding snow rose up, as if kicked up by a giant's footsteps, covering Mulciber and the spy in a localised snowstorm. The wind gained strength with each tiring step-jump Sirius took through the deep snow.

Something massive swept through the rising cyclone, nearly knocking Sirius off his feet. As he battled Mulciber's spell, he surmised that the basilisk had hurled its tail over the clearing, and not without cause – the trespasser now lay sprawled nearby.

"Find him!" Sirius shouted over the dying windrush as the spell gave way, counting on Remus' superior eyesight to catch just a glimpse of Mulciber, enough to follow him. Harry was with the spy, turning him over onto his back.

 _"This way!"_ Remus bellowed, already tearing through the forest in inhuman leaps. Sirius followed, running madly, transforming mid-step.

Padfoot had a much easier time covering the distance and within seconds, he had left Remus behind. Not far in front, Mulciber was fleeing in a very obvious direction – towards the edge of Hogwart's wards, where he could apparate away. With an angry bark, Padfoot sprang forward, all but flying over the forest floor, gaining on the Death Eater with each breath-

Two trees cracked, broke and plummeted right into his path. Padfoot scarcely avoided a head-on collision, digging his claws into the frozen ground to halt, then swiftly climbed and leapt over the obstacle, resuming pursuit with increased fervour. Mulciber's play hadn't bought him much of an advantage. Padfoot was only a few good leaps behind when Mulciber halted, spun around and kicked, the heel crushing Padfoot's nose.

The whimper that escaped him turned into a threatening snarl at once, while Mulciber swatted away a curse from Remus. The bastard laughed loudly as he returned fire with a curse of his own. Padfoot, frothing, willed away the pain in the sensitive nose and let rip with a low growl, readying himself for another attack. He launched off the ground and his jaws snapped together, catching only air, the echo of Mulciber's laughter ringing in his ears. The Death Eater had disapparated.

Sirius transformed, crying out in anger. Remus caught up him then.

"I'm sorry, Sirius."

"Goddamn him, bloody _fuck!"_

"At least we've got the trespasser," Remus offered in a consoling tone.

Sirius punched the nearest tree and immidiately cursed his temper. "Yeah. At least something came out of this useless fucking affair…"

They could have used Dumbledore's special portkeys, but the Headmaster collected them after Voldemort had used one of Croaker's to infiltrate the Ministry. Too risky, he said. Right now, Sirius was hoping the Death Eater's letter was genuine just so he'd have a good reason to break ties with Dumbledore. Not for the first time time since Voldemort's return he was reflecting on Dumbledore's leadership and finding it lacking. Bah, the Order as a whole made less sense each time he stopped to think about it. Voldemort wasn't going to hold back. Some lines would have to be crossed if they were to have a chance at winning this war.

Back at the clearing, Harry was seething with anger, pacing back and forth as he cast glaring glances at the unconscious spy. Sturgis had his wand drawn and was watching Harry carefully, ready to stop him from doing something drastic.

"Do you know him, Harry?" Sirius asked.

Harry growled and charged, landing a vicious kick at the spy's side before Sturgis grabbed him and hauled him towards the middle of the clearing. Sirius wasn't keen to rush to the spy's aid.

"It's Theodore Nott," Harry said. His eyes radiated anger and frustration. "He's in my class. I should have _known-"_

"You couldn't have," Sturgis said, holding onto Harry's shoulder. "Calm down. This is helping no one."

"We shouldn't linger," Sturgis warned.

Sirius turned in place. The forest around them was still eerily quiet. The basilisk was the only creature in vicinity. "Agreed. Let's go."

Bringing Voldemort's spy to Grimmauld Place ws out of the question, so they plunged into Knockturn instead, relying on Remus' familiarity with the area. He led them to an unassuming building which blended right into the bleak neighbourhood of similar, old construction of greying brick. No stranger to less than respectable places, Sirius still felt mightily uncomfortable here. If Diagon Alley was the heart of Wizarding Britain, Knockturn was its shadow.

They entered the basement, Remus carrying Nott over his shoulder. They weren't particularly concerned with witnesses. Even if someone had seen them, Remus had enough of a reputation by now that few would dare inform on him. Their chosen locale wasn't a basement in the strictest sense, rather an access point to the sewers under London – a world entirely different to the one Sirius was used to. A deep trench ran through the middle of the low-ceilinged space, supported by two rows of pillars. The trench was filled with filthy, murky water and ran into a circular tunel. Remus suggested to keep an eye on it.

"You never know when a vampire decides to come up to the surface."

"Vampires," Sturgis repeated, not bothering to hide the revulsion in his voice. "I'll watch the tunel."

Remus sealed the entrance and elected to stand guard by it. Meanwhile, Sirius transfigured some of the layabout trash into a chair, which Nott was then sat on and tied to. He reached into his pocket and popped the cork on the vial – the last of the Veritaserum he'd stolen from Snape during his visit at Hogwarts a few months ago.

"You want to go first?" Sirius asked, looking at Harry once the potion had been administered.

"Who is your accomplice at Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

Nott's head flopped to the side tiredly. "No one."

Harry's fingers snaked around Nott's throat. "What is the name of the other of Voldemort's spies at Hogwarts?"

Nott shook his head. "I am the only one."

Harry glared at Sirius. "Are we sure the potion is working?"

"The one thing I can say for Snape is that he knows his stuff," Sirius replied.

"Could he be resisting it?"

"Unlikely," Sturgis chimed in, "but possible. Natural resistance is incredibly rare, but there are other ways. Mastery of occlumency is one. It allows a degree of evasion."

"Or lycanthropy," Remus addend grimly.

"Yes, there's that too."

"Could someone have overheard you?" Sirius asked. "Discovered what you've been doing in the forest?"

Harry let go of Nott, but still stared at him with unrelenting hatred. Sirius wandered if Harry wasn't not telling them something. The way he'd reacted to the revelation of Nott's identity didn't seem to line up with the boy just being a spy. Had something happened at Hogwarts? Something Harry had kept to himself and suspected Nott of having done?

"I doubt it," Harry said. "I only told Ginny, Ron and Hermione. But I guess I could've been spotted. I don't know." He grabbed the front of Nott's robe and growled, "What do you know about the murders of the Grangers and Hestia Jones?"

"Nothing," Nott replied.

"Nothing?" Harry repeated. _"Nothing?_ How can you know nothing, the Prophet wrote about it! You didn't hear anything from your friend Malfoy?"

"That _is_ odd," Sirius muttered. "Either he's really resisting the potion, or he truly knows nothing... And that could mean-"

"His memory has been altered," Harry finished. "I must have been seen in the Forbidden Forest. I reckon Mulciber wiped his memory."

"We knew the odds were long that we'd learn anything from him," Sirius said, trying to sound encouraging, though he himself was disappointed.

"Whatever," Harry said, spitting at Nott's feet. "He's just bait anyway."

~~oOo~~

"This was a stupid idea," Sirius murmured impatiently. Remus shook his head, and though he was turned sideways, watching out of the window, Sirius spotted the corner of his mouth curve upwards. "Don't _smirk_ at me, werewolf."

"Sirius, for Merlin's sake, sit down," Sturgis implored, making a stern face over his mug of an unidentified, steaming beverage. "Spreading anxiety isn't going to help matters."

"What is that, anyway?" Sirius asked, pointing with his chin.

Sturgis looked down at his mug. "Oh, that? Just a peculiar potion to settle the nerves. Learned the recipe from a fellow up in Norway."

"You didn't look nervous before," Sirius remarked, eyeing the mug suspiciously. Sturgis had rummaged through Hagrid's cabinets and filled the cauldron with a seemingly random and lethal looking collection of dried herbs. Sirius wouldn't dream of drinking anything that contained venomous tentacula leaves.

"Oh, I just like the taste," Sturgis replied, shrugging his shoulders before taking another sip.

Sirius smelled the green-ish steam rising in wispy swirls. "Does it even have taste? There's no smell."

"Try it for yourself. There's plenty more."

Sirius glancem at the cauldron. _Venomous tentacula,_ his mind whispered a reminder. Sirius grimaced. "I'll pass, thanks." He resumed his restless pacing around Hagrid's table. Remus had proposed to use the groundkeeper's home to wait for Harry's return. Hagrid had just been leaving when they arrived, toting his enormous crossbow, and Fang was scurrying alongside him. Hagrid didn't usually return from his trips to the Forbidden Forest before several hours passed.

"Where _is_ he?" Sirius barked at Remus expectantly, hoping the werewolf would see Harry approaching.

"It hasn't been ten minutes since he left," Remus replied, admonishment colouring his tone. "He has the Cloak. Moody hasn't been able to see through it since Harry changed it."

"Dumbledore's not Moody."

"You speak of Dumbledore like he's the enemy," Remus said, turning from the window to face him.

"I don't know what to think of Dumbledore anymore!" Sirius snapped, slamming his fist onto the table. Sturgis swore loudly when his mug was upturned and the contents spilled across the tabletop. "And don't try to change my mind-"

"I won't," Remus interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "We are committed to this course of action and we will keep on it until we know the truth. You're not the only one who wants to know it…"

Sirius made a face. "Don't you know that anything you say before 'but' doesn't count?"

 _"But,"_ Remus continued, undeterred, "we shouldn't be so fast to cast Dumbledore in with those we're fighting."

"I haven't done that, Remus," Sirius retorted. He was ready to do it at a moment's notice, but left that part unsaid. They could resolve that issue once they were back in the safety of Grimmauld Place Twelve.

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he was about to say drowned in the silent, overwhelming surge of power that lanced through Hagrid's hut, making Sirius and Remus stumble, while Sturgis jumped up from his seat, spilling yet another mug of his deadly tea.

"It came from the castle," Sturgis blurted out, looking honestly shocked.

"Something's happening," Remus said, having thrown the fogged over window open.

Sirius was out the door and transforming before the others had moved across the room, clawing up the steep rocky path to the castle heedless of his companions. Another surge cascaded down the hill and hit Padfoot like a tidal wave – a sick, but simultaneously exhilirating feeling rose in his stomach, but he didn't stop, and was at the front gates within a dozen breaths, becoming Sirius again in mid-step, drawing his wand as he ran up to the door. He flinched back with a pained yelp. The door was fiendishly hot to the touch. He levelled a Banishing Charm at it.

The Entrance Hall had become the mouth of hell.

Sirius recognised Fiendfyre as soon as he tasted Dark magic in the air. He couldn't see the Grand Staircase, the Great Hall's doors or the entryway to the dungeons, or the ceiling for that matter. The centre of the enormous chamber was cocooned in a dome of swirling, angry, red-and-black flames.

Suddenly, Sirius heard an explosion, like a giant balloon popping and his reflexes were scarcely fast enough to shield him from a storm of glass shards flying through the interno. Three more such explosions followed shortly. Some of the shards were coloured – red, blue, green, yellow. His mind supplied the answer before he consciously registered what just happened – the hourglasses that kept tally of the House points must have cracked from the heat. Sturgis and Remus caught up to him and only now did Sirius have the capacity to notice who was in the eye of the fiery hurricane.

Dumbledore was kneeling, partially charred robes splayed around him, one hand clawing at air, the other holding something in a white-knuckled grip. Behind him stood Harry, one arm outstreched from beneath the Cloak, pressing the tip of his wand to the back of Dumbledore's neck, and shouting something that Sirius couldn't hear over the whoosh of the Fiendfyre.

"HARRY!" Sirius roared. He stepped closer, but a fire-beast cut across his path, snarling at him with a mouth full of rows of teeth, wispy blue flames that somehow looked sharper than steel. Harry didn't seem to have noticed them. "Harry, _stop this now!"_

Sturgis seized his shoulder and shook it, gesturing at the threatening fire with his wand. Sirius nodded, understanding the silent message, and aimed his own wand at the Cursed Flame. Remus joined them once he saw what they were doing and between the three of them, they carved out a path closer to Harry.

"HARRY!" Sirius bellowed again. This time, he was heard. Something changed in Harry's eyes, the immediate murderous light in them dimmed, and the Fiendfyre vanished, snuffed out in a blink of an eye. Around them, the Entrance Hall was a scene of destruction. Much of the stonework had melted into pools of shiny, black goo that was slowly trickling down the walls. The Great Hall's doors were simply _gone,_ consumed entirely, and the dungeons entrance was sealed with melted stone. The podium that once housed the hourglasses was covered in a lumpy sheet of glass, still glowing from the heat.

Harry hadn't removed his wand from Dumbledore's neck. "It's true," he spat, looking down at the old wizard, "and he knew." He looked up at Sirius. "He's known for years. Snape came to him and begged and pleaded, said he was _sorry,_ and _he,"_ he leaned over Dumbledore's shoulder, "ate it up, like a fool. Trusted a Death Eater."

Sirius found himself in a precarious situation – he felt in his gut that saying the wrong thing might just set Harry off and he wasn't prepared to bank on his speed to stop Harry from killing Dumbledore right then and there – and Harry looked ready to do it.

"Harry, lower your wand."

Sirius had no idea where those words had come from until he realised that it was Sturgis who had spoken them. The Hit-wizard took a short step closer, moving slowly, but deliberately. "You say he's a fool – you'd be proving yourself one by killing him."

Harry scoffed. His expression carried a mixture of disgust, anger and hurt. "Kill him? I'm not so far gone, Sturgis."

Dumbledore looked defeated, like a man who had just lost something dear that he had no hope of ever recovering. He said nothing, staring down at his hands.

"Where's Snape?" Sirius asked.

"Gone," Harry replied, and his wand flashed red before anyone could intervene. Dumbledore slumped to the floor, unconscious. Harry flicked his wrist and the parchment Dumbledore had been holding wriggled free of his fingers and bumped against Sirius' chest. "I'm done with him," Harry said with an air of finality, striding past. "And with this place."

Something dropped from his left hand, previously hidden under the wing of the Cloak – Dumbledore's wand.

Sirius straightened out the parchment. It was a letter, addressed to Dumbledore.

 _Dumbledore,_

I cannot risk staying here any longer. Potter may yet rediscover the truth of the prophecy. I wouldn't put it past your brother to tell him of that night. I have given you fourteen years. I shall not live those I have left stuck between you, the Dark Lord and Potter.

Severus Snape

"Sirius Black!"

He looked up at McGonagall, all but flying down the ruined steps, the rest of the staff grouped behind her.

Sirius turned on his heel, paying no mind to McGonagall's cries. He blinked when a spell splashed against a shield behind his head – Sturgis had protected him and Remus. Sirius looked back over his shoulder.

"Don't push me, Professor," he said, a threatening edge to his tone. "Even all of you can't hope to stop us."

"I dare believe we have some arguments with which to _persuade_ you, Sirius," Flitwick retorted.

Sirius had never heard the tiny Professor so much as raise his voice, but just then he was reminded the Charms Master had been a dueling champion. Regardless, Sirius felt assured in his skill, moreso with Remus and Sturgis at his side. The Professors had the numbers, but the likes of Sprout or Vector were hardly duelists.

Sirius shook his head. "No, Professor. You really don't."

No one moved to stop them as they left the devastated Entrance Hall behind. No one followed them when they walked down the road to the winged boar gate. Harry was waiting for them there, sitting down on the cold, wet ground, his back against one of the pillars. Sirius pulled him up roughly and disapparated. He was going to get some answers from his godson.

For the second time in as many days, their four-man strong faction sat around the table in the dark, warm kitchen of Grimmauld Place and listened to Harry's report.

"I stunned Nott and hid him in one of the empty dungeons," Harry said, staring down at the table, drawing his fingers along the ridges in the wood. "I went to get Ron and the twins, told them to make a mess up on the seventh floor to distract the Professors… I went back down to find Snape. Had Nott knock on the door. We waited for a few minutes, but there was no response, so I ordered Nott to break the door down. Snape wasn't there. The place looked bare, like it hadn't been used at all. I looked everywhere and only found that letter."

He went on to describe in the barest of details, often prompted for more and giving them reluctantly, how he had left Nott stunned in Snape's office, hid under the Cloak and unleashed the Fiendfyre in the Entrance Hall. Sirius winced at Harry's dispassionate description of the bait that was supposed to draw Dumbledore in, though the emotions came back and bubbled quickly to boiling when Harry recounted how he sneaked up to the Headmaster who had been trying to quench the Cursed Flame.

"I took his wand," Harry said. His voice was quiet, but he was shaking, gripping the edge of the table hard enough that Sirius was expecting the hard wood to crack at any moment. "I showed him Snape's letter. Didn't even have to ask. He told me everything. The Death Eater's who sent me the letter was right about everything."

Though Sirius couldn't condone Harry's rage and its manifestation in Fiendfyre, the thorough destruction of the Entrance Hall… all of that he could swallow, given Dumbledore's actions. That betrayal cut harsher and deeper than even Peter's. Peter had been terrified, forced, coerced into doing what he'd done. Dumbledore's had been entirely his own initiative, all to gain an unreliable spy among the Death Eaters. What had Snape contributed, really? He had barely attended any of the Order's meetings and the information he brought was scarce and of questionable quality, a trade-off to preserve his own worthless life.

It was an uneasy day at the House of Black that followed. Sirius had decreed that they all needed to cool their tempers. Sturgis disappeared somewhere, as did Remus. Sirius stayed, weary of the idea of leaving Harry by himself. They stayed out of each other's way, but he made sure to always have his godson relatively close by. Fortunately, Harry's fury seemed to have been spent at Hogwarts, at least for the time being.

The next morning dawned in an atmosphere of anticipation. Hedwig returned carrying a reply from Hogwarts. The Order was going to convene at Dumbledore's home. _Just like the old times,_ Sirius thought.

Harry categorically refused to stay behind and Sirius preferred to have him close in any case. Thus, all four of them made their way to the stately home of the Headmaster, all their collective muscles drawn taut, expecting the worst. The mansion looked tranquil as they walked up the path and through the picket fence gate. Harry stopped a ways short of the door.

"Last time I was here, I tried to kill him," he said, his gaze sliding across the building's facade.

Sirius was expecting a follow-up, but Harry said nothing else. Sirius didn't know what to make of those words and by the looks on their faces, neither did Sturgis and Remus. Harry went to the door first. It opened before he raised his hand to knock.

The Order was gathered in the large dining hall and the looks they got upon their entrance left no doubt in Sirius' mind – no matter what was going to be said here today, the Order as they had known it would be no more.

Most members had taken seats at the table, others claimed more removed spots, preferring to stand. Dumbledore stood as well, at the head of the table, though hunched over it. He seemed smaller, somehow, as if he had shrunk in the day since his confrontation with Harry. Even his eyes had lost their usual twinkling lights.

"Harry-" he began, but was immediately interrupted.

"No," said Sirius. "You've talked enough. Now it's my turn."

He locked gazes with Dumbledore for a moment, then stepped closer to the table. Arthur Weasley sat to his left, accompanied by his wife. On the right he had Moody. The old Auror had his hands together on the table. His fingers, so many times shredded and repaired, resembled a knot of twisted, scarred roots. Sirius looked from left to right, meeting the eyes of every Order member, one by one. The silence he had demanded endured. They were all waiting for him to speak. Good. He had a few things to tell them. Perhaps Dumbledore had been right about him after all – perhaps time had come for a new leader.

"I'm sure most of you in this room would say that Albus Dumbledore has lead us well," Sirius said, stepping behind Arthur's chair. The Weasley patriarch twisted in his seat to get a better look at him, but Sirius had already moved on towards Kingsley, who stood with his arms crossed by a cabinet that held a china set painted with images of bowling pins.

"For the most part, I could agree. The Order's operations took a toll on Voldemort's forces in the first war – and yet, we were still losing. Now, it would be callous of me to suggest that we were solely responsible for that, or that Dumbledore was the only one making decisions in the Order."

Sirius patted Kingsley's arm – the Auror didn't react beyond gracing him with a muted glare. Sirius quickened his pace and was presently facing Dumbledore, who straightened himself to tower over Sirius, his gaze hardening.

"All of that doesn't matter. Our success with the Ministry has proved that Albus Dumbledore isn't necessary."

"It wasn't you who finally convinced Fudge," came the accusation. Sirius' head whipped around to face his once-defender before the Wizengamot. Elphias Doge looked defiant, an odd look on his usually earnest face.

"It wasn't Dumbledore who convinced Crouch," Sirius countered and stepped around the Headmaster, past Flitwick's chair. The Charms Master was tapping his pointed nails on the table in a steadyt rythym that Sirius had unknowingly matched his pace to. "The first step was achieved without the esteemed Headmaster's input and I dare say we could have got to Fudge as well, in time. You all know what I've been trying to do. I have pushed for it repeatedly, but was shot down every time. By him," he added, pointing at Dumbledore. "You trust him over anyone else. I don't fault you – by rights, he gives the impression of a person worthy of trust and loyalty. But there is something he hasn't told you. Something he has kept a secret for fourteen years. Something we deserved to know."

He paused to sweep his arms across the room. "I can't have been the only one to notice Snape's absence. He's a hard person to miss. Figuratively and literally."

To Sirius' satisfaction, many eyes now migrated from himself to Dumbledore, many of them questioning.

"We all know about the prophecy Dumbledore had been a witness to and what it says. We all know there was a Death Eater who overheard a part of it and brought it to Voldemort. Have none of you ever wondered just what compelled Albus Dumbledore," here, Sirius looked at the man again, not bothering to hide his disgust, "to vouch for Snape at his trial? He's the only reason Snape walked free."

Judging by the reactions, Sirius was sure that some of those present were beginning to make the connection. The anger dawning on Kingsley's face was a particularly satisfying sight.

"I'm going to make it easy for you," Sirius continued. "Snape gave Voldemort the prophecy. When he realised whom he had condemned to death, he came begging to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore obliged him. I must thank Albus for helpfully providing all the details to Harry yesterday." Sirius gave a mocking bow, never taking his eyes off the Headmaster.

All the time had been speaking, Remus, Sturgis and Harry had stood in the door, unmoving, content to watch the events unfold. By now, Harry especially was drawing some conflicted stares.

"Severus Snape is the man responsible for the wholesale slaughter of the Potters. Lily and James were in hiding – they never even found out what had happened to everyone else. All those lives, lost because of the Death Eater we harboured among us, the Death Eater Dumbledore protected, lying to everyone here and some who aren't with us anymore. Frank and Alice, the McKinnons – they died believing Dumbledore was the praiseworthy paragon they thought him to be. He is anything but."

Sirius truly had no idea where those words were coming from. He hadn't writtten a speech, like he had for Fudge. Righteous anger seemed to be all the inspiration he required.

"We came for Snape last night, but he wasn't at Hogwarts anymore. All we found was this." He tossed Snape's letter on the table. Moody grabbed it out of the air, his magical eye spinning madly. "If there's one thing Snape is good at, it's escaping justice. Make no mistake, I will not leave it like this. For now, Voldemort is the greater concern, but when he's dead, I'm going to look for Snape and he's going to die. Now…" Sirius placed his palms flat on the table, back at the beginning, between Arthur and Moody, opposite Dumbledore. "If anyone here doubts that Snape deserves death for everything we know he did and all the sins yet undiscovered, then I tell you now – you are not welcome at Grimmauld Place Twelve. If you continue to suport Dumbledore, you are not welcome there. If you do nothing, I won't care. Just don't get in my way. Because… if you try to stop me…"

Sirius rejoined Harry, Remus and Sturgis by the door, a clear enough sign to them that they would be leaving shortly. He turned to face the room for the last time.

"...I will simply remove you."

Sirius led the party outside, leaving behind the bewildered and fractured Order of the Phoenix. The war was about to enter a new stage, unhindered by the limits imposed by Dumbledore. The Order could carry on with its policy of not stooping down to Voldemort's level, for all he cared. For Lucius Malfoy, he would stoop as low as he had to.


	26. CHAPTER EIGHT: Scars Old And New, Part 3

**CHAPTER EIGHT: Scars Old And New**

 **Part 3**

It was like September all over again. 'Potter' and 'Dumbledore' were once more the most frequently spoken names at Hogwarts, though the context they were invoked in was radically different. And a particular novelty – Ginny found herself a subject of scrutiny as well. Ron and Hermione weren't spared either, though they had been hardened in the fire of gossip that Rita Skeeter had fanned during the Triwizard Tournament.

Ginny had always been urging Harry to ignore the rampant whispering and finger-pointing that went on every time he walked by, only now getting an inkling of what Harry had to deal with so often. She wasn't even spared among her friends. It was Demelza, of all people, who speculated that Harry had been driven mad by their break-up. Honestly!

The ground was fertile for all sorts of theories. It wasn't every day that half of the student body couldn't get to breakfast or classes, trapped by molten stone. The staff displayed astonishing witchcraft in restoring the Entrance Hall, but Fiendfyre had etched scars that not even Hogwarts could shrug off. The day was chaos incarnate, with Aurors and Unspeakables crawling through the castle, poking, prodding and probing every inch of the Entrance Hall, the Potions dungeon and Snape's office.

Snape – his absence spawned no fewer theories than Harry's own scorching performance. The slew of announcements at dinner struck the Great Hall into progressively profound stages of shock. Harry Potter expelled by a unanimous vote of the Board of Governors and the Headmaster. Professor Snape no longer the Potions Master of Hogwarts, now a fugitive from the Ministry, pursued for past and present crimes by order of the Wizengamot. Ginny's head was spinning, and she knew a lot more about this mess than most people.

Two weeks had gone by the time she stopped reeling and Snape's post was hastily filled by the rotound persona of Horace Slughorn. He took a spot at the High Table next to Moody, who had been terrorising the school with his philosophy of Constant Vigilance since Umbridge had moved offices to a Ministry cell.

Those two weeks brought not a word from Harry. The elusive Boy-Who-Lived, by popular account a budding sorcerer of Dark Arts, had seemingly vanished. Ginny was all but certain he had become a permanent resident of Grimmauld Place Twelve. Fortunately, his expulsion must have been deemed punishment enough, because the Ministry announced no arrest warrant. Or perhaps the Wizengamot simply dared not cross Sirius Black.

All in all, without Harry there to be the adhesive of their group, Ginny drifted away from Ron and Hermione. Her dormmates had put distance between them as well, and for the first time since coming to Hogwarts, Ginny was stuck in the unenviable circumstance of having no one to talk to. That is, until she was summoned to the Headmaster's office.

She climbed the spiral staircase on trembling legs. The door at the top was waiting for her wide open. She could count on a single palm's digits the number of times she had been up here. The stunning circular room was just as brightly lit as ever, but the people inside were sufficiently grim to darken it nonetheless. Dumbledore sat in his gilded chair, leaning back, and yet restless. Professor McGonagall seemed uncommonly frazzled, her eyes fluttering about, the stern gaze absent and scattered. And, separated from the rest of the room by the table supporting a battery of Arithmantic instruments, Ron and Hermione stood arm in arm.

Her brother – tall, broad, lips drawn taut – was the picture of steadfast resilience, though his eyes blinked encouragement at Ginny when she entered. She knew right off that any questions had been met with hardy silence. Loyalty in the face of longest odds – Ron could do no less. He wouldn't know _how._

Hermione looked out at her from under heavy eyelids, weighed by tiredness. Her eyes lacked the familiar eager spark, lodged in bruised sockets. She swayed slightly on the balls of her feet, steadied only by Ron's arm around her shoulders. Ginny sent the two a nod, receiving one in return from Ron.

"Miss Weasley," the Headmaster spoke, beckoning her closer. "If you'd indulge me… I won't take much of your time."

It was easier to refuse Dumbledore's gentle requests than she'd expected. She was no oracle of divining about people, but she could gather that Dumbledore seemed resigned, exhausted to even verbalise his questions. He attempted no persuasion, allowing her to deflect the queries as soon as he placed them, his eyes often darting to an ash-filled tray below Fawkes' golden perch. A pink, wrinkly chick was peeking out of the small mound, one eye blinking keenly.

The Headmaster concluded his spiritless interrogation with a strained smile and quiet words, "Harry is uniquely fortunate to have such friends."

He sent them off with a wave and Ginny left in Ron and Hermione's wake. Once they left the gargoyle guardian well behind, Ginny grabbed onto Ron's elbow. "Hold there, mister," she ordered. "Why do you think Dumbledore asked about Theodore Nott? He wasn't one of our suspects. Or have I missed something?"

Ron gave a wry smile. "Must have. Dumbledore made the announcement at dinner."

"I wasn't there," Ginny explained. "Came straight here from the Tower. Well, what was it?"

"Nott's been missing. Aurors found him this morning," Hermione added tonelessly. "He's been obliviated. Reduced to a toddler. Everything past the first few years erased."

Ginny gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth. "Do they know who did it?"

Ron laughed, but it was hollow. "Obliviators had their way with him. One guess what spell-memory showed on his wand."

"You're joking…" Ginny mumbled, eyes widening.

"Oh _yes,"_ said Ron, lowering his voice to an unnerving whisper. "He did it to himself."

~~oOo~~

Sirius hadn't been planning to spend his afternoon plunging into the arse-end of Knockturn on his own, but Remus had been gone for days, and he needed that mule-stubborn wolf. Beside Harry's, his was the only other wand he really trusted to have by his side when they went after the Malfoys. These days, he was only barely tolerant of Sturgis Podmore.

He sighed at the sky. His breath fogged, rising in lazy whorls. Things had been going so well and Mulciber had to up and ruin everything. After wrestling with his conscience for weeks, Sirius concluded he would have preferred _not_ to know Sturgis as anyone else than a devilishly-skilled mercenary. This burden was then weighed against the satisfaction of _knowing_ that his never-waning hatred of Snape had always been justified. Best of all, he no longer had to feel guilty about the repulsive gut feeling aimed at Dumbledore that he'd carried since his escape from Azkaban.

All things considered, Sirius couldn't deicide if ignorance was a blessing or a curse. Perhaps it was infuriatingly both, just like everything else in the world. Just one more card in the deck of life. He shook his head, kicking a piece of chipped brick down the curving street. A philosopher, he was not. He knew what he was and that was enough to guide him.

He glared at a passing witch – the poor thing stumbled right into a wall – and with a decisve push opened the door of a rundown pub, a fine specimen of the sort widely present throughout the wizarding districts the world over. The Statute of Secrecy seemed to naturally breed dank, dark holes such as this one. He stomped down the steps to the main floor, discarding all notions of subtlety and politeness towards the few patrons, and approached the bar.

"Old Brody," he half-barked, half-laughed at the grey-skinned goblin. "Do you remember me?"

The bartender looked up with a bored expression, never pausing in polishing a glass with an old rag. An oily black eyebrow rose.

"Remus Lupin," Sirius answered the silent question.

The goblin appeared to ignore him, but uncurled a spindly finger from the glass, briefly pointing it at the bathroom door. With a nod, Sirius moved in that direction, only to bump into a dirty-faced wizard, a head shorter than him, clad in a well-worn jacket and a patchy bowler hat – a typical representative of the scum that slinked through the dark alleys of Wizarding Britain.

"Don't I know yeh fr'm somewhere?" the fellow screeched in a voice that suggested a lifelong love of the pipe.

Sirius stared down at Mundungus Fletcher, Dumbledore's filthy smuggler friend. They'd met a few times, back during the last war, but fortunately Azkaban had changed Sirius while Fletcher still looked the same, down to the last wrinkle on his hat.

"Not a chance," Sirius replied, shoving aside Fletcher, who reached into his jacket for a short, stocky pipe which he stuck into his mouth. Sirius wasted no time in entering the bathroom. It was unlikely that Fletcher would be able to follow him. He doubted anyone would have cared to invite the smuggler in.

The crowd in Brody's nameless establishment was, as always, boisterous and lively. Sirius muttered a string of curses under his breath. Finding Remus here would take a while. He elbowed his way closer to the closest viewing gallery.

Or perhaps it wouldn't take long at all.

In the ring, topless and covered in sweat and blood, Remus was currently accepting a congratulatory roar from the onlookers while a lanky, tall wizard, who looked like he'd been sculpted to be ogled, but not for fighting, was hauled outside the circle. The defeated Adonis had barely cleared the perimeter when another challenger jumped in, eagerly kicking off his shoes.

Sirius was just taking a sip of his freshly-delivered drink when the man turned and Sirius spat out his drink on top of someone's head below, but they didn't even notice, preoccupied with screaming the throat raw. Was that...

John Dawlish, the butt of jokes in the Auror Office, basked in the feverish energy of the crowd. With a delighted howl, he shucked off his shirt, drawing everyone's eyes to his trunk-like arms and a broad, hairy chest. The man was built like an ape.

Sirius found himself cheering for the idiot, who only laughed harder as Remus pounded buckets of bodily fluids out of him. Dawlish was clearly a crowd-favourite, because when two werewolves helped him out of the ring, he was still grinning, sent off by whistles and backslaps. Then, to the crowd's disappointment, Remus collected his shoes and vacated the ring as well. He looked up and, by chance, noticed Sirius. With a nod, Remus gestured for him to follow into one of the private rooms.

Sirius withheld a comment on the unnatural sheen of Remus' eyes. It wasn't his place to council grown men on the dangers of certain substances. He himself drew the line at alcohol these days. Try everything once, sure, but sniffing parthdust was just _irresponsible._

At least now he knew where Remus had been. How ironic, that Sirius had been dealing with Snape's escape by keeping himself busy, while Remus had unraveled into a mealstrom of sweat and drugs. It used to be the other way around. If he hadn't lived it, Sirius would never have imagined that _Azkaban_ would force him to grow up.

While Remus dried off and dressed in silence, Sirius got the impression that it wasn't just Snape that had the werewolf flinging himself off the proverbial hippogriff. No, there was something else, something personal, and it had been slowly poisoning Remus for months now. If he was going to be of any use in time for the Malfoys, this had to be dealt with. First, however, Remus needed a few potions and a good night's sleep.

Remus spat out a mouthful of blood mixed with flecks of yellow phlegm. His nostrils flared, skin on the upper lip dry and marred with a net of tiny fractures – he'd been dancing with parthdust for a good few days, then, Sirius thought.

"Don't you _dare_ judge me," Remus growled, the glow receding from bloodshot eyes. "I can _feel_ you judging me."

Sirius scoffed, crossing his arms. "I wouldn't even know what to say. No words seem condescending enough."

The heat of his glare spent, Remus deflated and collapsed onto a chair, nearly slipping from it, and ran a hand down his face, grimacing. "You're right. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," he said. He didn't bother concealing the confusion and disappointment – with himself, Sirius guessed – that showed even through the dying sheen of parthdust. "Somewhere along the way, I got lost. I feel _lost,_ Sirius." There was no hurt in those words, no accusation of the world that just didn't play along. Remus wasn't one to whine and blame everyone but himself for his problems. More often than not, he took responsibility when he didn't have to, not unlike Harry.

Sirius was tempted to ask – tell me how you got lost? – but looking at his friend now, his brother in all but name, he decided that Remus needed to pull himself back together before Sirius had him debriefed. "Yes, yes. We all get that way sometimes. I was lost for twelve years. Get up, you mutt. Clean yourself up, and we'll talk when you can see straight."

With Remus shambling off to Grimmauld Place, Sirius walked the length of Knockturn Alley towards Diagon and proceeded to Gringotts alone. The evening had arrived and he made it to the bank just as the clock tower above the Daily Prophet's offices struck eight o'clock.

Plainly speaking, the Ministry's delegation was not appreciative of his lateness, but the complaints were quickly done away with on Crouch's order. The Director assumed his post at the head of the group with Fudge. Sirius greeted the former with a curt nod, sparing no acknowledgement for the Minister. There were no outsiders in the group. None of them, including the Minister himself, any longer held delusions that Fudge was anything more than a puppet, strung up to shed the light of legitimacy upon his handlers.

"Percy," Sirius greeted the young man. The freshly appointed Undersecretary had proved a remarkably skilled hand at steering his boss along the desired tracks. They shook hands, Percy's eyes flashing with a deceptively cunning light. _Stick with me, Perce, you'll go far._

Crouch, putting on the air of self-importance that he pulled off so well, led the group through the main hall and upstairs, to Gringott's executive offices. For underground dwellers, goblins put a lot of stock in making sure they could literally look down on their underlings. The office of the bank's manager overlooked the main hall through a pair of windows. The room was a bright, luxurious space with a vaulted ceiling, completely unlike a cave, all of it designed to announce the authority of the incumbent.

The party of wizards was received by an equal number of goblins, all decked out in suits twice as sharp as their claws. Sirius surveyed the room, wondering if there was a single object in sight not cursed, trapped, or laced with poison. The goblins' leader, clad in unblemished matte black accented with gold, exchanged a handshake and a grotesque smile with Fudge.

"Chief Ragnok," Fudge greeted with as much faux cheer as he could muster, caught between his masters and a hoarder of treasures more ferocious than a dragon. Introductions followed and Sirius returned Ragnok's smirk with one of his own. He had no sympathy for goblins, but he could respect someone as lethal as Ragnok Rakeharlaw was said to be.

"Gringotts is pleased this meeting is taking place," Ragnok proclaimed. "Shall we begin?"

Wizards and goblins sat at a long table, Fudge and Ragnok facing each other in the middle. Sirius was content to let Crouch and Plateau argue over the technical and legal details of finance and politics. It was a culmination of months of negotiations. The initial truce, agreed to after the riots in Diagon last summer, had held on by a thread, but fortunately a recent change in the upper crust of Gringotts' management had prompted the new goblin overlord to sit down with Crouch for a fresh round of talks. If Bill Weasley's information was to be believed, Ragnok had become Chief over his predecessor's dead body. Literally.

Crouch and Plateau, with Fudge's occasional contribution to maintain appearances, hammered out a deal to mutually lift sanctions in exchange for shuffling around of some gold and debt. Everything was going well until Ragnok came out with an unexpected demand.

"We require the sword forged by the request of Godric Gryffindor to be returned."

All discussion halted.

"Rakeharlaw," Sirius said with an understated growl. All heads turned to him. Oddly enough, the goblin Chief was the only one not outwardly outraged at Sirius' form of address.

"Advisor Black," Ragnok said, wicked claws clinking on wood. "You've been quiet throughout the meeting."

Sirius shook his head slowly. Show a goblin a hand,he'll take off the whole arm. No stranger to the skewed goblin concept of ownership (there was a trunk full of goblin steel in the basement of Grimmauld Place), this last demand rankled, even if he had no personal stake in the ultimate fate of the Sword of Gryffindor.

"You can have the sword back when Hogwarts crumbles into dust," Sirius said, rising slowly out of the chair.

Ragnok mimicked him, his stare unrelenting. "This is non-negotiable."

"Nothing is ever non-negotiable," Sirius retorted. "You only want it to assert your position. You haven't been Chief for long and you need something to show your people that you can stand on even ground with wizards."

Once again, Ragnok was the only one to show restraint. Goblins were likely honour-bound to protest whenever a wizard suggested goblins had to measure up to him. Sirius wandered if it wasn't all for show, anyway. Ragnok seemed far cleverer than the average Chief.

"I have something to offer instead that will suffice to show off your claws."

"And what might that be?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

None of the wizards protested – Sirius had warned them of this and he had been unbent. Bargaining with people's lives was generally considered an anachronistic practice among wizardkind, but Sirius was glad to make an exception.

Ragnok was clearly interested, but hesitant. "Goblins do not lack for gold, Advisor."

Sirius stepped around to other side of the table. The two goblins nearest him each armed themselves with thin, long swords, having pulled them out from Merlin knows where. That in turn provoked the wizards to reach for wands, and in short order everyone was threatening someone else's throat with a pointy object.

"You can have his gold too, if you wish," Sirius said. "I meant the man, not his money."

Ragnok's eyes flashed with hunger. "You would trade away a fellow wizard to settle politics?"

"I will this one," Sirius agreed. "I don't care what you do with him, as long as he dies."

For the first time since Sirius had paid him that late night visit, Cornelius Fudge spoke out against him. "Advisor, this is unconscionable, I must protest-"

"We're not in Britain, Minister," Sirius shot back, glaring Fudge back into his seat. "This is goblin territory. The law here is written in the blood of one's enemies. Might makes right." He turned to Ragnok. "Isn't that right, Chief?"

The goblin broke the stand-off with a grin, showing off a suite of pointed teeth. "Indeed."

~~oOo~~

Malfoy Manor was burning.

Harry had joined the unit that was making the frontal approach, disarming traps woven through the flagstones on the path that snaked its way to the front door. He walked at a solemn pace among a group of Curse-breakers, loaned from Gringotts to bring down the large-scale defences. He felt safe enough surrounded by those of Gringotts' treasure hunters that came with Bill Weasley's personal recommendation. Joining them were a small unit of mercenaries that had been pointed out to them by Sturgis, who wasn't present himself, at Sirius' request. Harry didn't understand that condition, but hadn't argued and neither had Sturgis.

He was safe, but also useless. He had never studied Arithmancy and his knowledge of curses was centered around application, not removal. Still, he tried to do his part. Several times, the hedge tried to cut off their way, so he burned it to cinders. Then a herd of bizarrely bloodthirsty peacocks swooped down – he and Bill hexed them out of the sky before anyone else noticed their approach.

Harry watched intently as Bill and his colleagues dismantled the enchanted gate that guarded the final stretch of the path, and the unit marched forward toward the Manor itself.

The large building was a mishmash of thick, medieval walls and scarce decoration, and gothic towers with peaked roofs and high, iron-framed windows. To the Malfoys' credit, those seemingly incompatible elements had been skillfully integrated into a seamless, stout structure, half-castle, half-mansion, a statement of power: approach at your own risk.

Unless you had a dragon, of course.

The other unit, led by Sirius and Remus, had taken the longer path through the grounds of the Malfoy estate to eliminate anything that might otherwise try to sneak up on the attackers. Malfoys bred thestrals. Harry had heard the account of the battle at Nurmengard. Probably better that they were taken out of the picture.

Sirius and Remus circled the Manor to join Harry, while the Curse-breakers and goblins spread out around it to commence the final stage. Bill led his contingent in a concerted effort to bring down the wards of the Manor itself. The goblins, true to their nature, opted for an approach that lacked any kind of finesse.

The dragon was pale-skinned and blind and its wings were in tatters – the toll of decades spent underground as a guardian of goblin gold. Nonetheless, the creature had lost none of its ferocity and strength. Its handlers directed the beast to spit fire at a row of enormous barrels and then hurl the flaming projectiles at the Manor. The explosions shook the building to its very foundations and thanks to the Curse-breakers' spellwork, the enchanted white fire ate away at the Manor's protections much faster.

Harry had begun to wonder why the mercenaries were even necessary if Curse-breakers and goblins were doing all the work. He found out a few minutes into the barrage, when a group of Death Eaters apparated on the path behind them. To Harry's own surprise, his immediate reaction was, "What, no Voldemort?"

The leading Death Eater rounded on him with spitting rage. "Don't sully his name with your fiflthy tongue, blood traitor!"

"No, you see, Harry," said Sirius, stepping out in front, "Voldemort doesn't make a habit of helping his people." He tilted his head. "Hello, cousin."

Bellatrix Lestrange tore her silver mask off, her face skewed in a hateful glare. _"You will pay for this."_

Sirius twirled his wand. "I already have. Do you think these guys," he gestured lazily towards the mercenaries, "are here because I asked nicely? I spent a lot of gold to make this happen."

Harry recalled Sirius' words, spoken last summer, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. _Next time Moody mentions a Death Eater by name, you better listen._ He had heard Moody, alright, but he had never run from a fight, and he wouldn't this time.

A pitched battle erupted on the front lawn, while in the background the ancestral House of Malfoy burned. Apart from Bellatrix, there were two other silver masks among the Death Eaters – Harry's guess was those were the Lestrange brothers. In the storm of spellfire, the battle became an en masse exchange of curses. The Lestranges were good, but Bellatrix was in a class few could aspire to. Fortunately, Sirius was one of them.

The cousins Black effectively cancelled each other out, leaving the battle to be decided by everyone else. Harry had learned his lesson and stayed firmly behind the front line of shields, but still did his best to push forward. None of the other Death Eaters displayed skill that would make Harry pause and take notice, and so they were no match for the experienced hired wands. Harry and Remus flanked Sirius, battering Bellatrix and those nearest her with a relentless onslaught, gaining ground step by step.

When the first of the Death Eaters ran, it didn't take long before all of them were beating a Lestranges weren't fools – they didn't stay behind to fight a losing battle on their own and possibly get captured.

"Let them run," Sirius said. "They're not who we're after tonight."

One of the peaked roofs caved in and collapsed inside the tower. At that sign Sirius ordered a halt to the barrage. Goblins cracked whips and cowed the dragon still spitting fire at the building into submission, and it curled up on the lawn, looking not unlike a small rocky hill. The Curse-breakers put out the dragonfire. The enchanted white flames died once the Manor's defences had been depleted, their fuel spent.

"Spread out around the Manor, keep watch," Sirius commanded."Don't let anything get through. I doubt anyone else will show up, now that we've chased off the Lestranges. If you see someone trying to leave the building that isn't one of us three, stop them."

 _Three?_ Harry wondered. "You'll let me go in with you? You think I'm ready?"

"As ready as we could make you," said Remus. He stood firmly on his feet and looked much better than the last time Harry had seen him.

"Did you think I just brought you along to watch the fireworks?" Sirius asked. He cut a striking figure, with one side of his face in the dark, the other illuminated by the surviving tongues of dragonfire, still licking the window frames and roof tiles. "What do you say, Harry? A little payback on Draco?"

"Be careful, though," Remus warned. "Malfoys may not be the only ones inside."

The Manor was still _mostly_ intact and radiated scorching heat. Harry applied a Cooling Charm and went after the others. Remus opened the door for them, ripping it from the hinges with a powerful kick. The hall they entered had suffered only minor damage, even though flames had found their way in.

"Lucius!" Sirius bellowed, stepping into the open, arms spread wide. "Come and get me!"

Several things happened at once.

Sirius jabbed and pulled at one of the smoking sofas, summoning it into the path of a Killing Curse. Something big and silver scythed through the air and would have taken Remus' head off were it not for his reflexes.

Harry noticed all that peripherally, because he was himself preoccupied by a vial of white liquid arcing towards him. Instincts took over and he cast the Impediment Hex with barely a conscious thought, catching the vial safely in his left hand. Draco's face immediately ducked back around the corner of a nearby corridor. Harry smiled hungrily, slipping the potion-bomb into his pocket. _Not this time._

Sirius and Remus had already taken off after their targets. Harry jogged towards the corridor and slowed to an unhurried prowl as a long hallway opened up before him. A long carpet ran down the middle and walls were decorated with paintings. Their occupants had vacated the premises, but Harry saw the backgrounds burning in some of them.

He came upon a door and blasted it open, showering the room beyond with splinters. He then conjured a wall of water which he sent crashing through the room in a frothing, foaming wave, hoping to flush out anyone that might be hiding there, but it was empty. He went on, checking every room, but kept to the middle of the hallway. He felt like a cat stalking prey. This time, Malfoy wouldn't have twenty Death Eaters at his back.

"Come out, Draco," he called, conjuring a flock of blue flames which he cast forth, illuminating the dark hallway with cold light. "No more hiding."

Whether provoked by his taunts or springing a poor trap, Malfoy finally revealed himself, jumping out of one of the rooms ahead, chucking three more bombs at Harry, who deflected them away from himself. The vials flew through the open door of a room he had just flooded, obliterating it entirely. Harry raised a shield black in colour, protecting himself from the explosion and being blinded by the explosion.

Draco's wand spit a curse, which Harry flicked upwards into the ceiling, where it carved a funnel-like hole. For a moment, Malfoy stood frozen, as if unsure of his next move.

Harry bared his teeth. _"My turn."_

He swept his arm back to front, low over the floor, and the carpet curled into a tube, then twisted further, becoming a wiry four-legged _thing_ that leapt with a snarl, almost bowling into Malfoy before suffering a quick death by shredding. Harry animated the paintings, and they flew from the walls with a collective rattle, spinning like blades. With a twist of his wrist, he broke the frames into jagged pieces. Draco released a blue flash that ground them into dust, but Harry conjured a gust wind that blew it into Malfoy's face and left him spitting and coughing.

Pressing his advantage, Harry stomped on the floor and the floorboards groaned as nails shot out of them. At a flick, their tips began glowing white-hot and Harry sent them after Malfoy, who shatttered a vial at his feet that burst out in a cloud of yellow smoke that instantly turned the nails passing through it into steam. Harry came forward slowly, not in any hurry to end the duel, while Malfoy vanished the yellow cloud. Recovered, Malfoy turned to more conventional dueling, but none of his spells could pierce Harry's defence.

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_ Malfoy invoked, his wand spitting green, but Harry clawed his left hand and jerked it upwards, and the curse splashed on the curved floorboards. Malfoy then twirled his wand into a corkscrew, which Harry interrupted with a rapid snap of his own, blocking the bludgeoner before Malfoy even finished the spell.

Two curses rushed forward to meet each other head on, but instead of mutually snuffing each other out, the combatants' wands were momentarily linked by a wavy thread of light which Malfoy pulled and broke, redirecting his magic into a hail of silver chains. Harry snapped off another Impediment Hex and the chains slowed to a crawl. Harry deflected another curse into a wall and, taking advantage of the screen of chipped bricks and plaster, he linked Malfoy's chains together into a net and sent them back to the owner. Malfoy bisected the web vertically, the halves flying past him.

"You can't" Harry snarled, taking the initiative to toss a curse Malfoy's way, "beat," another spell followed and Malfoy struggled to shield against it, "me."

Malfoy waved his off-hand wildly and for the first time, Harry relinquished control of the pace of the duel as the Manor itself hurried to aid its Master's heir. Walls buckled and Harry pointed blindly behind his back. A lasso of bright orange light anchored him to the floor and he slid backwards as the walls came crushing together where he had just stood. With a pronounced flourish, Harry aimed a Blasting Curse at the obstacle – the explosion put him face to face with Malfoy again.

Harry ducked low under the second Killing Curse, placing his left palm flat on the floor, then curled it into a fist and the floor bulged. The distortion travelled the length of the hallway in a blink of an eye and Draco lost his balance as the floorboards tossed him a foot into the air. Flailing, he scrambled to regain his footing, but Harry was already standing again.

Putting his left foot forward in a stomp, Harry clapped his hands and lightning streaked from the tips of his fingers. Malfoy's scream was drowned out by the defeaning boom of thunder. He was flung backwards until he hit the wall where the hallway turned a corner. Harry approached, his wand pointed down, eyes locked on his enemy's smoking form. Malfoy groaned and tried to raise his wand again – by miracle, he'd held onto it – but Harry kicked it away and on his silent command, the silver chains, lying nearby, snaked across Malfoy's body, tightening into an inescapabable binding.

"I don't think so, Draco."

He stopped abruptly at a prickle on his neck, an unnamed sense warning him of magic brewing behind his back. He spun on his heel just in time to raise a shield. The spell that clashed with it drowned the hallway in a bright flash. Before the light dimmed completely, Harry reached into his pocket for Malfoy's bomb and slung it down the hall. The vial landed at the feet of a robed sillhouette. Malfoy screamed in anguish when the explosion blinded them both.

Harry summoned Malfoy's wand and went over to investigate the sneak attacker. She was charred almost beyond recognition, but from the slim frame, a few strands of long, blond hair and feminine hands, Harry could make an educated guess. He turned to Malfoy, who was seething with rage, breathing in huge gasps.

"I'm terribly sorry, Draco. I thnk it's your mother."

His moment of triumph was cut short by a Death Eater crashing through the battered wall between him and Malfoy. The man landed in a heap, knocked unconscious by the impact, bereft of his mask, wand and _left arm._

Remus climbed through the hole then, carrying a gleaming axe, stained with blood, the shaft almost as tall as himself. Looking at the Death Eater closely, Harry recognised Walden Macnair.

Throwing the axe away with disgust, Remus surveyed Harry's battlefield. His eyes narrowed upon the sight of the charred corpse. "Is that Narcissa Malfoy?"

Harry had a reply ready ("You _cut off this one's arm,_ Remus."), but there was no scorn in the werewolf's voice.

"I'm not going to condemn you for fighting, Harry." Remus looked at Narcissa's body again, his face growing stoic. "And she wasn't innocent."

~~oOo~~

The court agreed with Remus, although Narcissa Malfoy's reputation was only of concern to the society page in the Daily Prophet. Reviled for her role in Lucius' financial machinations – and thus contributng to the goblin unrest throughout the year – but moderately absolved for dying trying to defend her child, she was a largely inconsequential factor in the events that dominated the days following 'the Battle at Malfoy Manor', as it had already been termed by the press.

Macnair's trial came and went first and was for the most part ignored by the public. The executioner had no friends – or at least none willing to admit their association – and had enjoyed a rotten fame for years. Perhaps his allegiance to Voldemort simply wasn't shocking enough when considered next to his occupation and a mindset just as bloody. His own execution hardly registered in the collective awareness of the people of Wizarding Britain. His infamous axe became a subject of interest, however, after the Prophet announced that Unspeakables had taken charge of it.

Lucius was tried second. A fervent affair, that, though with a predictable outcome. When the gavel struck, sealing the verdict, Sylvestre Malfoy attempted to raise an outrage in France, decrying the proceedings as unfair and skewed in favour of the prosecutor. Harry couldn't contain malicious glee when he read the article that quoted the refusal of Sylvestre's demands by Minister Delacour: _"The prosecution of Lucius Malfoy is an internal British matter. France has no mandate to interfere."_

There was speculation galore about who, why, and how when it was reported that Lucius had disappeared from the cell where he had been awaiting execution. Harry kept his mouth firmly shut. Sirius didn't explicitly say anything, but given the involvement of goblins, it wasn't hard to put together. In other news that week, Rita Skeeter penned an editorial about the long-awaited agreement that had been reached between the Ministry and the representatives of Gringotts. The country breathed a sigh of relief as gold again flowed in abundance.

It was the trial of Draco Malfoy that had Wizarding Britain and all of Europe on the edge of their seats.

Harry sat in the witness box through it all, a harrowing thirteen-hour affair, but he found comfort in knowing that it had to be a thousandfold worse for Malfoy. The full ranks of the Wizengamot and a packed gallery listened as Harry gave his own testimony and read out loud a long statement from Hermione, who categorically refused to step foot in the courtroom. It had been their first contact in weeks when Harry met with his friends in a private room at the Three Broomsticks. No matter what argument Harry brought to bear ("Your testimony is essential, Hermione"; "the Chief Warlock can have the press clear the courtroom"), she put her foot down on not being in Malfoy's sight.

Draco changed in the courtroom. The evening before, when Harry had come to gloat and threaten, Malfoy had ten acidic curses to return for each of his remarks. The morning saw him collected and assured. Despite how far he'd fallen, Draco found a rapt audience in the wizarding public, proudly espousing his allegiance to Voldemort and his ideology. Bastard didn't even flinch when admitting to the murders of Hermione's parents in front of a thunderstruck crowd. He locked gazes with Harry in a superior stare as he proclaimed his guilt, providing every vivid detail the prosecutor asked for to assure that he was being genuine.

Harry left the courtroom disgusted, like he had been forced to swallow something vile. The crowd of reporters attempted to mob him, but found an insourmountable obstacle in their way. These days, few dared challenge Advisor Black.

When asked, Sirius explained that Special Advisor to the Minister was a defunct position he and Crouch had dredged up from old records, dating back to the early days of the Statute of Secrecy. Fudge fielded no protest when they informed him they would be reviving the post. An Advisor's powers and responsibilities were defined so vaguely that in effect Sirius could do whatever he pleased as long as he had the Minister's 'authorisation'. Fudge had little to say there.

Scrimgeour had reportedly been apoplectic when the Minister announced Sirius' ascencion to the highest echelons of power.

It was also thanks to Sirius' new authority that Harry avoided any repercussions for his part in the Battle at Malfoy Manor, declared drafted into 'a special auxillary unit of law enforcement'. What that unit was precisely remained a mystery to the public, 'for security reasons'. As far as Harry knew, its membership roster only featured himself and Remus.

Harry left the Ministry after Malfoy's trial void of the satisfaction he had been expecting, even despite the verdict. Draco Malfoy would be relocated to the strengthened Azakaban. Harry wanted him dead, Sirius reasoned that executing a minor would buy them no sympathy when they had just sentenced two people to death. Harry had half a mind to turn around, infiltrate the holding cells and break Malfoy out, just so he could apply a prolonged punishment of his own design. Even lifelong imprisonment was a grace Malfoy did not deserve.

Harry didn't make it back to Grimmauld Place Twelve until long past nightfall. He had spent the day drifting through the wizarding district of London, hidden under the Cloak. Draco's trial exhausted him in ways he hadn't conceived of, but despite the tiredness, he remained awake long into the night. The House of Black was still cocooned by the Black Crest's suite of enchantments. Their magical hum had become a comforting background noise-not-noise.

Remus had shuffled off to bed, collapsing as he stood, without even taking off his shoes. Apart from him and Kreacher, Harry was alone. He walked up from the kitchen with a cup of hot chocolate and made his way to the living room, stealing a glance at the basement door. Satisfied, he claimed an armchair and kindled the fireplace to life, losing himself in his hot beverage. Each sip washed away the day's dirt and the trial weighed less on his mind. He had begun to doze off when Sirius' puffing, huffing nose-breathing yanked him back into alertness. He cast a cross look when Sirius fell heavily onto a sofa.

"I'm going to tell you the story of why I don't trust Sturgis Podmore," Sirius said without preamble.

Blinking, Harry took a moment to process what he had just heard. He wanted to first ask what had made Sirius decide to grant his request after so many months, but given the suddenness of this development, he sensed that perhaps questions were best left for last.

"I'm all ears."

Sirius rubbed his eyes. "I'm going to need alcohol to get through this. Kreacher!"

The house elf popped in with a dry crack, wearing his customary scowl. "Master called?"

"Firewhiskey," Sirius said curtly.

A glass later – Harry was drinking too – Sirius must have decided they were both liquored up enough that he could begin.

"Sturgis is two years younger than me. He started at Hogwarts..." Sirius rested his forehead on a fist, eyes closed. "He started at the same time as my brother."

Harry held back a hiccup. Instantly, a dozen theories sprang to mind. Sirius' brother – all he knew about Regulus Black was that he had been a Death Eater, died young, and that Sirius had no love lost for him.

"He – Sturgis, I mean – he and Regulus were both Sorted into Slytherin and by some happenstance became friends. Back then, I didn't _hate_ my brother. I just thought he was a prick, like Snape." Sirius scowled at that last name. "Regulus was immediately drawn to the worst crowd."

Harry could guess. Future Death Eaters.

"Lucius, the bastard, was out of Hogwarts already. The circle of Voldemort sympathisers was at that time led by a fourth year Slytherin." Sirius looked up, eyes running across the ceiling. "Jervis Mulciber. He wasn't a killer yet then, but it wouldn't be long. He treated other people in such a way so that they knew he thought himself above them. He was the unwanted, bastard son of the old Mulciber. By all rights, his crew should have laughed him out of the room, but he led them by the nose. By Christmas, he was Regulus' idol. But there was one person pulling him back from these people."

Sirius spoke of Mulciber with increasing disgust and of Sturgis with quietly bubbling anger.

"For four years, Sturgis was my brother's only anchor. I could have said I liked him, even. Regulus wasn't someone people rushed to befriend, but Sturgis stuck by him, in a tug-of-war against Mulciber."

Sirius shook his head and dried off a second glass, then topped off both of theirs again. Harry mistakenly swallowed too much and went into a coughing fit that caused him to spill the rest of the alcohol all over the carpet.

"No matter, no matter," Sirius mumbled, once Harry could breathe normally again, and poured him another glass. Harry stared at it, not entirely sure he should be indulging.

"Everything changed in their fifth year," Sirius continued, making a sweeping gesture that made the amber luquid in his glass slosh perilously close to the rim. "Sturgis came back different, like he had been replaced by a poor impostor. He distanced himself from everyone, began throwing around magic that had the Professors in a tizzy. They fell over themselves to proclaim him the second coming of Merlin.

"I was arse-deep in NEWTs and composing my early application to the Auror program. It took me a few months to even notice that Sturgis had abandoned my brother to the wolves. I... didn't take it well." Sirius examined the glass as if he were considering hurling it into the fire. Ultimately, he sighed and refilled it again. "When I confronted Sturgis... Well, I'd gone to Regulus first, but he pretended I didn't exist, instead worshipping Mulciber from afar and buddying up with _Snape..."_

"Sturgis looked at me like- like he was irritated I dared intrude upon his valuable time, and told me that he had better things to do than babysit lost boys. I can't possibly describe how much _disdain_ there was in his voice when he told me that."

Reluctantly, Harry swallowed the last mouthful of his second glass, torn between the pleasant buzz in his head and paying attention to Sirius.

"I talked to people and I think Sturgis alienated just about every other Slytherin his year. Bloody hell, even old Slughorn noticed – had to intervene. Sturgis went out of his way to antagonise people, but there was only one he simply _ignored._ I wasn't a very good brother, Harry... but I could tell Regulus was hurt."

With his hand hovering above the bottle, Harry scrunched up his face and shook his head. No, he'd had enough. He scraped at an itch on his lip. "Something I don't understand though..."

"What's that?"

"How is Sturgis at fault here? Did he drag Regulus to Mulciber and tell him to sign up? We're responsible for our own choices, Sirius. Regulus made his."

Sirius responded with a heated glare. "Sturgis did everything he could to push my brother towards the Death Eaters. You weren't there, Harry. Much later, I found out that the summer after that year, Regulus joined Mulciber's crew for a day of muggle baiting. Sturgis was long gone by then."

The glass in Sirius' hand shattered. Harry almost rushed to scoop up the shards, but they _evaporated_ on contact with skin, burned away too rapidly to even melt.

"All these years, I didn't know _why,_ but I spent a long time in Azkaban. Had other things to think about. Even stopped wanting to strangle Sturgis. You're not entirely wrong, Harry... What Regulus did, regardless of Sturgis, the little snake deserved to die, like the rest of the wretched Blacks. But I know now. Really, it makes perfect sense..."

Sirius rose from his seat and kicked the remains of his glass into the fire. He sneaked a hand into the pocket of his coat, fingering something inside of it. "When Sturgis asked me to come with him after the ICW conference, we went to Germany to protect his father from Mulciber."

"Germany? Sturgis is – _hic_ – German? He doesn't sound Ger-"

"Sturgis Podmore isn't even his real name," Sirius interjected angrily. "Or maybe it is, I don't know. I don't care. His father's name though, is Benedict Hessberg."

Harry was drawing a blank on that name. "Is that important?" he asked distractedly.

"What the hell do they teach you in History-" Sirius began heatedly, but halted, seeing Harry's sceptical expression. "Nevermind. Anyway – Benedict Hessberg was Grindelwald's general. One of his most trusted, one of the five. Really, it's so obvious now why Sturgis studied at Hogwarts, under an invented name. Durmstrang would sooner close down entirely than admit Hessberg's son. Durmstrang _loathes_ Grindelwald."

"Sirius..." Harry stood up and wobbled over, leaning on the mantlepiece. "I'm glad you told me, though I have to say, I'm not thinking as clearly as I should be and also, what's that in your pocket, because you keep playing with it and I think it's important, probably, yes?" He said all that in one breath and stumbled back into the armchair when dizziness overcame him.

Sirius revealed a vial with a memory-strand stored inside. "This is why I told you that story. I haven't watched it yet, but the owner told me what it is. Bring your pensieve."

The memory couldn't wait, because Sirius woke Remus up and badgered him into mixing a tonic to sober him and Harry up. Once clarity of thought was restored, all three of them plunged into the pensieve to watch the memory.

Harry stood amidst a battle.

"Nurmengard..." Remus muttered.

"Find Lucius," Sirius ordered.

Harry was disappointed that this perspective provided only a blurry recollection of Dumbledore's duel with Voldemort. Sirius pulled him along until he found what he was looking for.

There was Sturgis, trading curses with Lucius Malfoy. The Hit-wizard had positioned himself in front of a gate leading deeper inside the fortress, presumably to the prisoners' cells.

Harry yelped and jumped when memory-Nagini slithered between his feet, only to find her way forward blocked by Sturgis, whose duel with Malfoy had broken up when Lucius moved to assist Greyback against Remus. Malfoy did notice one more thing Sturgis did, however.

He let Nagini through.

There was no mistaking it. The snake had stopped because of Sturgis and then the Hit-wizard moved out of the way, glancing at the serpent as it went on to assassinate Gellert Grindelwald.

The memory ended and the pensieve released them.

"Whose memory is it?" Remus asked.

Still looking down at the silver swirls, Sirius replied, "Lucius gave it to me just before the goblin Chief chased me out of his cell."

"Doesn't sound like Lucius Malfoy," Remus surmised. "He would have been doing something to save his skin, no matter how futile, not giving you a memory."

"Maybe he chose to do something rather than nothing at all," Sirius said. "Not go quietly into the dark – I don't know, Remus. But he told me that he saw Sturgis let the snake through and gave me the memory."

"If nothing else, this raises questions," Remus said.

Sirius nodded, his expression bitter. "I've already asked them."

"Sirius..." Harry looked up slowly. Sirius avoided his eyes. "What did you do?"

"I found Sturgis and asked him why he let Grindelwald be killed," Sirius replied, grimacing. "I asked what Grindelwald knew that he didn't want us to find out."

"What did he say?" Harry pressed, fearing the worst. What had happened? Had they fought? Was Sturgis dead?

"He didn't say anything," Sirius snarled. "He ran."


	27. CHAPTER NINE: Purge, Part 1

**CHAPTER NINE: Purge**

 **Part 1**

Although his relationship with the House of Black had suffered severely in his youth, Sirius came to appreciate it more with each passing day. Its location in muggle London was a form of protection in of itself – not even Voldemort would risk upsetting the Statute of Secrecy – and the other defences it boasted weren't of no consequence either. The Fidelius Charm had been broken the moment Sirius formally evicted the Order of the Phoenix, but that spell was never a perfect form of protection. The Fidelius had concealed the location of the _Order,_ but anyone looking for the House of Black instead would have ignored the spell altogether.

In hindsight, Kreacher hadn't done the worst job with the upkeep of the place. After all, everything worked just fine, though the house had fallen into squalor. Standing in the threshold of the vast chamber that housed the Ministry's forgotten records, Sirius sighed in an expression of tightly controlled frustration. The old archives could use a couple of Kreachers. Filthy beyond comprehension, and on top of that _nothing_ worked. He had thought Crouch had been joking when he said that no one had done maintenance on the Ministry's ancient records since old Bagnold left office. The task seemed more insurmountable with each new layer of dust, so they had just let it be, a relic of times past, obsolete and cast into obscurity. It was baffling, considering the weight wizardkind usually ascribed to old things, but these archives had been replaced by a separate, more efficient storage facility while this one was closed and left to crumble for a hundred years. Nowadays, even Unspeakables were rare visitors here.

Sirius' resolve to pursue his new undertaking shook, but he cast the doubts aside, determined to see it through. He could surely borrow a few people here and there to help. Obliviators weren't terribly busy these days, were they?

He walked among through the carcass of the first Ministry, overgrown with the detritus of history. Somewhere in here was a document he needed to realise his next great plan. In truth, he could simply go the route of the Order and form his own vigilante group, but that model was precisely _not_ what he wanted. Having a semblance of legal authority would make things much easier in the long term.

Resigned, he braced himself for the ungodly amount of reading awaiting him, grabbed a wooden chest from a nearby pile, and set it down on the large, long table running through the aisle between two roughly shaped rows of shelves, piled up scrolls, boxes, chests, stacks of string-bound books, and other various records.

With several sweeps of his wand he removed decades' worth of dust from the immediate area and enkindled a light in the wooden chandelier that hung on a long rope from the high ceiling supported by rectangular pillars.

Once he found a rythym of work, he could go through the chest's contents quickly. Anything that didn't bear some kind of seal or was only a single page went back in the chest. Anything that looked remotely relevant to his search, he put away to await a more thorouh examination. In a half hour he was finished and had three crumbling documents that might help him determine what section the chest had come from. He got up to grab another and at once, the encouragement of initial achievement vanished like air escaping a ruptured balloon.

At this rate, he might find what he was looking for in a decade or two. He didn't have years to waste in here. Where could he begin recruitment? Hmm... How many people did Plateau have doing math? Er, no, probably better not to mess with finances. After running through a list of all Departments, Sirius was coming to the realisation that he might, in fact, need to hire a workforce of his own, when his musings were interrupted.

"Ehmm... Sirius?"

He glared imperiously over his shoulder, doing his best to look like a man absorbed by a task of profound importance.

"Yes?"

Before him stood Tonks and Grayson's son, recently reinstated to active duty (already as a full-fledged Auror) after completing his reconvalescence at St. Mungo's.

"Well..." Tonks began, biting down on her lip. "We're here because, um..."

Thankfully, Dell Grayson was less clumsy with words.

"About your... declaration to the Order, sir. We-"

"Sir?" Tonks squinted at Grayson sideways. "He's nor a _sir,_ he's Sirius. Don't be silly, Dell."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "That's 'Advisor Black' for you, Auror Tonks," he said, though his straight face was imperfect, the twitch of the lip betraying amusement.

"You're full of shit, Sirius," Tonks retorted. "We're not here to fool around." She paused, at a loss for words, then elbowed Grayson in the ribs. "Go ahead, tell him."

"If there must be three sides in this war, we want to join you, sir- Advisor."

Sirius almost replied with a joke, but caught himself. Though perhaps their presentation lacked gravity, he believed the sincerity of their decision. It wouldn't hurt to swell his ranks. Right now it was just him, Remus, and Harry. Sirius could never see himself trusting anyone as far as he did them, but fighting a war was a bit much for just three wizards, no matter how skilled.

"I will only ask this once, so think hard before you answer," Sirius said, arms crossed. "If you join me, I will not tolerate you working with Dumbledore anymore, unless I order it. One of his top people is your boss. If Shacklebolt calls on you to choose, I will not look kindly on allegiances you may value above myself. I need grown goddamn people. And don't even try saying anything about Harry, cousin. He has proved himself beyond his years."

They both nodded, their faces serious.

"We understand," said Tonks.

"Tonks is my family," Sirius said, turning to Dellan. "But your father works for Dumbledore. I won't make you choose between me and your family... I must ask you to make that choice for yourself."

"I have given this a lot of thought," Dellan said, nodding. "I know what this means."

Sirius let them squirm for a moment longer and then clapped his hands, beaming. "Great! In that case, you can get started with this." He pointed over his shoulder at the vastness of the archives.

Tonks' face fell once Sirius explained their new assignment in detail, while Dellan took a deep breath, steeled himself, and lively collected an armful of boxes. Sirius gave an appreciative nod. Here was a man not afraid of hard work.

"I won't keep you here forever, I just need to get this moving until I can hire some people," he said, alleviating Tonks' fears. Reassured, she joined Dellan at the table. "I'll be back in an hour."

Sirius left the archives and made his way to Crouch's domain, secretely enjoying how people hurried to make way for him. He wasn't just a part of the system now, he occupied the very top of the pyramid, among few others. James would have been horrified.

Crouch's office was as angular and void of personality as its occupant. Barty Crouch had plenty of _character,_ but Sirius couldn't think of a single quirk he'd seen the man display beyond the peculiar movements of his mustache. There wasn't a single painting, cerificate or diploma on the walls, not a single framed photograph on the desk, and even the shelves, while full of books and folders, were so neat that they seemed untouched, merely there for decoration. It was all terribly stiff. There was a fully-stocked liquor cabinet in the corner, however – perhaps the only indicator that Crouch was, in fact, human, and not just an inferious that cleaned up well in dress robes.

When Sirius barged inside, employing a fast-walk to blow by Crouch's assistant, the Director had been in a meeting with Dirk Cresswell and Marcus Plateau. You wouldn't have been able to tell from his face that he was bored – Crouch was much too professional to look any less than politely engaged at all times.

"...so I think you can see why the goblin Chief would be _disagreeable,_ quite rightly, in my opinion..."

Plateau's mouth was hanging half-open, his head tilted, when Cresswell was busy lecturing Crouch, a sign of exasperation. Crouch must have seen Plateau's reaction, but if there was a spark of laughter in him, he doused it without mercy. He held up a hand.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, Dirk," Crouch said. "Our fresh agreement with Chief Rakeharlaw is well-served by your... engagement, but I regret to have to cut this short. It seems our meeting has ran past the hour."

Cresswell and Plateau looked over their shoulders at Sirius, who greeted both men with a nod, and left it up to Crouch to get rid of them.

"Let's set something up for later this afternoon," Crouch was saying as he led the two men to the door, his hand on Cresswell's shoulder, ever so gently prompting them to leave. "I'll have my office contact your offices and we'll... coordinate."

Once the door closed behind Plateau and Cresswell, Sirius was sure Crouch would roll his eyes, but the Director merely returned to his seat.

"Black."

"Crouch."

"Whiskey?"

"Bit early in the day for me."

Crouch saluted Sirius with the bottle of Ogden's and sunk deeper into his swivel chair with a full glass. For a fleeting moment they regarded each other, their stares nonetheless lined with guarded mutual respect. Sirius had long given up contemplating how the man who had unlawfully imprisoned him had become his greatest ally in the Ministry.

"So, Advisor..." Crouch leaned back, his chair creaking quietly. "Still not going to tell me what you're looking for in the old archives?"

Sirius smiled coolly. "I want it to be a surprise."

"Fair enough," Crouch replied, shrugging. He tipped the glass over to his lips, then set it down on the desk. "To business, then."

"To business," Sirius agreed. "How'd Scrimgeour do with the Wizengamot?"

Crouch's mustache twitched, a sign of disdain for their former co-conspirator. "They loved him, of course. He won the vote in a landslide. In fact, Dumbledore's faction was his main opposition."

Sirius muttered something unflattering under his breath. "How did Selwyn take it?"

"There was a great deal of yelling and comparing the warlocks to a range of farm animals. I didn't pay it much attention."

"So... Chief Warlock Scrimgeour." Sirius scowled. "I've changed my mind about that drink."

Once Sirius was also nursing a glass of amber, Crouch continued.

"He's angling for the top job after Fudge goes."

"We knew that already."

"I trust our agreement is still in place, yes?"

Sirius prolonged Crouch's agony, unhurriedly drinking his whiskey. He looked the Director in the eye. "I don't stab people in the back without good cause. Don't give me one and yes, you will be Minister." _But you won't enjoy it._

Sirius meant what he'd said – he had precious few allies to afford indulging in vengeance just yet, so he would be Crouch's friend... for now. Twelve years in Azkaban would not be forgotten or forgiven. He had great plans for Barty Crouch.

"Scrimgeour doesn't have the clout to occupy two powerful positions at once," Crouch said. "His resignation as Director of DMLE is only formality, but he will take his time, to assure that he can control the succession. My guess is he will try to appoint Robards."

"We're not going to let that happen," said Sirius, tapping the rim of his glass. "I have a much better candidate in mind."

Crouch's mustache moved from one side of his face to the other before returning under his nose. "Someone sympathetic to our interests?"

Sirius tilted his head. "Someone we can control."

Crouch raised a curious eyebrow. Sirius drank the last of his whiskey.

"I'll let you know, Barty. I'd rather keep this under wraps for now. Oh, and I was thinking... Do you suppose I should get myself an office?"

Crouch shrugged, almost managing to hide the irritation at being left in the dark under a mask of indifference. Almost.

"It's not the worst idea. With the influence you have, it might be beneficial to for people to see you more grounded, as it were. A part of the Ministry."

Sirius smiled and stood up. "Yes, that's what I thought too. Ah, before I forget – how go the preparations for... the other thing?"

Crouch's eyes clouded for a moment. "Everything will be in place on my end. The chain of command is secured, my people are set to begin at a moment's notice. You?"

Sirius nodded with appreciation. "Splendid. I've ensured the cooperation of the Auror Office. We'll spring the trap at the last moment – the element of surprise will do half the job for us."

"Does your part involve this new Director we'll supposedly be able to control?"

"Yes." Sirius placed his empty glass on the table with a loud _thunk._ "Don't scowl, Barty. Your mustache might get stuck like that."

~~oOo~~

Malfoy Manor was a sad sight to behold – a half-standing ruin of blackened stone, crushed walls, and gutted towers. The ancient dwelling had finally given up after suffering the goblin bombardment, Curse-breakers' spellwork, and three violent duels played out within its walls, although Harry had to admit, his battle with Draco might seem insignificant to the devastation Remus had wrought fighting Walden Macnair. The silver axe had left scars that cleaved through the ancient magic permeating the walls, such that the upper floors collapsed soon after. Several goblins had been buried under the debris, but Chief Rakeharlaw seemed to take the deaths in stride. Harry frankly felt more than a little repulsed watching the goblins excavate the Manor's treasure with perhaps more zeal than their dead. Now, weeks later, the Malfoys of Britain were no more, and as April banished the last remnants of winter, the Manor's ruins had become an entirely different place.

Several large tents surrounded the ruin, guarded by a compliment of the Ministry's best Aurors, a contingent of goblin warriors, clad from head to toe in spell-resistant steel, and the same blind dragon that had helped bring the Manor down in the first place. The Malfoys had valued privacy, and the Manor's remote location allowed the Ministry to erect defences and an array of muggle-repelling enchantments to let the excavation to continue uninterrupted.

Goblins carefully removed the debris stone by stone, taking possession of anything valuable that the Ministry relinquished. A unit of Unspeakables were hard at work cataloguing Lucius' vast collection of cursed objects, which had apparently been scattered all around the Manor, much of it hidden in plain sight. Captain Anton Robards had been tasked with security, while a pair of senior Unspeakables supervised everything else. To Harry's surprise, Arthur Weasley was a frequent guest at the site, offering insight on this or that, as the wizard with, apparently, the best information on the Malfoys that the Ministry had available. Harry had suggested to Sirius that they should bring in Auror Yaxley as a consultant, but Sirius claimed he had Voldemort's spy exactly where he wanted him. Harry wondered if Sirius was planning something – these days, his godfather seemed to merely move from one scheme to the next.

Once the excavation reached the ground floor proper, the Unspeakables lowered the area's danger rating and Harry convinced Sirius to grant him permission to visit the site. Quite honestly, it wasn't just curiosity. Harry had a specific goal in mind.

Today, the Unspeakables would begin exploring the Manor's dungeons, which were thought to have survived the destruction unscathed.

Remus had agreed to be his personal guard, though Harry had filed a protest at the notion of needing a guardian at all, seriously doubting that Voldemort would assault a fortified position with a dragon nearby. Nevertheless, Remus trailed behind him as Harry walked among the ruins, now cleared and easily traversible.

They entered the perimeter of what had once been the Manor's great salon. The remnants of a huge fireplace dominated the west wall, while the north one boasted the frames of three enormous windows.

Harry approached the north-west corner, where the enchanted wooden tiles – untouched save for smudging from the smoke – broke the pattern that spanned the rest of the floor. The abberration was unonbtrusive enough that Harry would have missed it if he hadn't known to look for it – spotting it while the room had been whole, furnished and decorated would likely have been nigh impossible, unless one possessed unnaturally canny eyes. Moody might have seen it, but otherwise it was as perfect a concealment as could be created without magic.

Remus was perched on top of the opposite wall, where all that remained of it was a short, stumpy stack of bricks, overlooking the ruins. Taking advantage of his distraction, Harry reached inside his pocket for the key he had prepared.

A single drop of blood was suspended in the vial, kept afloat by a Levitation Charm he had infused into a basic rune etched into the glass. Holding the vial between two fingers, he vanished it, letting the blood fall.

He had been expecting some deep rumble, perhaps the grinding of stones and gears scraping against each other, but the tiles moved with barely a hiss, folding away to reveal a narrow staircase winding beneath the floor.

Harry had no delusions that Remus wouldn't notice him suddenly disappearing if he went down alone, and he had no intention of sending the man into a frenzied panic, so he called, "Hey, Remus – look what I found."

Remus was at his side in a moment, wearing a stern expression. "How did you know this was here?"

Harry quickly weighed his options. Remus wouldn't buy any half-baked lie, but on the other hand, Harry was sure telling the whole truth was an even worse idea. "I'm not going to tell you, Remus, and you have to accept that. But Sirius knows."

"Harry..."

"I'm not discussing this. Sirius knows, and he trusts me. Now, are we going to see what's down there or not?"

"Let's get the Unspeakables."

"No. I want a first look, before they get their hands on everything and Croaker informs Dumbledore."

Harry expected to have to fight Remus on this, but apparently mentioning Dumbledore was enough.

"I'll go first." Remus called up his wandlight and descended the stairs. Harry followed closely, and once they were both below floor level, the tiles closed above them. Only their wandlights warded off complete darnkness.

They quickly assessed that the dungeons were vast, spanned several levels, and were full of traps. It was like they had entered an entirely alien world and Harry couldn't help but feel unnerved. Remus moved with far more confidence.

"I've spent some time in the sewers below London," Remus explained. "Vampires are the masters there. I doubt Lucius kept anything half as dangerous down here."

Harry couldn't say he felt reassured, but they ploughed on, the alternative being summoning the Unspeakables, which would amount to inviting Dumbledore along – the betrayal was still a sore wound. They went on, lighting the torches, marking off rooms they'd explored, and those they passed over for now. After braving the network of narrow passages and low ceilings for a good hour, they reached a door that bore what appeared to be the Malfoy crest at first glance. Having seen dozens of its representations in many other rooms in the dungeons, Harry spotted the difference immediately – the sleeping dragon perched on the top rim of the shield.

"Draco..."

"Harry, be careful."

Harry caught himself with his hand halfway to the doorknob, silently cursing his carelessness. He had to do better than that. Last time he'd underestimated Draco Malfoy, he was blown up. Dutifully performing several handy Curse-breaker's spells, he determined the door to be free of enchantments or any mechanical trap, unless they were concealed in a way he couldn't detect. Remus confirmed Harry's conclusion.

Ascertained that Draco's private dwelling was relatively safe to enter, Harry pressed down on the doorknob, and the door opened with no resistance.

Inside was more bare stone and a large table laid with potioneering equipment. The fire had gone out under a head-sized platinum cauldron, but it was still full. The liquid inside was as clear as water, but when Harry experimentally stirred it, it turned a milky white. Eyes widening, he held his breath for a fraction of a moment, reflexes too slow to catch up with the realisation. There was no explosion.

"The Unspeakables will have to look at this first, before anything else," Harry said, backing away from the potion. "I think this is the stuff Draco used for his bombs."

Remus leaned over the cauldron with apparent interest, while Harry turned his wandlight away, to explore the back of the room. The light fell on a heavy curtain of grey leather. Harry approached slowly – his magical sense gave no warning of a curse laying in wait for trespassers, merely the indication of an Air-Freshening Charm. Indeed, as he approached the curtain, the dungeon's stale air took on a pleasant, breezy smell. Standing at arm's length, he poked the curtain with his wand. The moment it was disturbed, a horrible stench almost made him stumble back into the platinum cauldron.

"Oh, _Merlin..."_ Remus gasped the last word and went into a coughing fit.

Harry covered his face and, his eyes watering, conjured Bubble-head Charms for himself and Remus, then flicked his wand, and the curtain was yanked aside.

Whatever lay on the metal table, it was definitely dead.

The wandlight travelled alongside the body, revealing dozens of varied, nasty wounds, the apparent effects of Draco Malfoy's experimentation. The body was naked and fastened securely with thick straps. The buckles were made of silver.

There wasn't an inch of flesh that hadn't been subjected to some kind of abuse and Harry couldn't be sure if the vomit coming up to his mouth was because of the putrid smell lingering at the back of his throat, or the realisation how depraved Draco Malfoy had become.

When he recognised the body as female, Harry thought this couldn't possibly get any worse, until the wandlight reached the face – the only part of her that was completely untouched – emaciated, a sickly green colour, and stuck in an expression of unspeakable pain, but still bearing a shade of its former beauty.

Sally-Anne Perks.

Harry fell to his knees as his stomach violently emptied itself and he kept retching, now kneeling in his own vomit, until he had nothing left to throw up but phlegm and spit.

Remus closed the curtain and dragged him outside the laboratory, where Harry was able to clean himself up. After the sudden bout of sickness he felt weak as a kitten.

"Let's get you out of here," Remus said, pulling him up to his feet.

The first person informed about the gruesome discovery was Sirius, who wasted no time in declaring Draco's laboratory off-limits to all investigators until further notice, over Robards' and Croaker's vehement objections – well, as vehement as the Chief Unspeakable could muster. Harry wondered if he and the peculiar Auror Ribs weren't related. The ban wasn't lifted until Sally's body had been transported to the morgue in St. Mungo's.

"What happens now?" Harry asked the next day, when he, Remus, and Sirius had gathered in Sirius' new office – a former storage room, adjacent to the old archives. While the room lacked the upperclass decor that dominated much of the Ministry, it was more spacious. Sirius had already furnished that space with a desk, a conference table, a sofa and armchair set, a stocked liquor cabinet and several tall shelves being filled up with items of interest that Sirius' growing army of researchers dug up for his perusal.

Sirius was clearly determined to carry on with his search regardless of circumstances, because he didn't even bother looking up from the latest batch of documents in front of him. "Healers will need a few days to examine the body, to make sure it's not contagious in any way. Then a funeral, I suppose, though I'm not sure how we're going to do that."

"We should try to find her family," Remus said.

Harry felt a heatwave explode in his gut. _"Family,"_ he spat. "The same family that pulled her out of Hogwarts? Parents who thought she was a freak?"

"I understand that you may feel that way, considering—"

"Spare me, Remus," Harry interrupted, tossing the man a cross look. "This has nothing to do with the Dursleys. I said no more than what we'd heard from her."

Referring to Sally in this impersonal way felt just shy of disrespect, but he dared not speak her name, as if it would conjure the angry spirit here to blame him for letting Malfoy take her.

Sirius put down the old parchments, interlocked his fingers, elbows on the table, and looked up. "Whatever happened, they're the girl's parents. They deserve to bury their daughter."

Harry turned away, arms crossed on his chest. "What if they ask questions?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I'll send Obliviators if I have to. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"I'll find the parents," Remus offered. "This... requires some care. I wouldn't trust the Ministry with this."

Sirius nodded. "Agreed. Thanks, Remus. That's at least one less headache."

None of them brought up the fact that the search would require consulting the Hogwarts records, and thus visiting the castle. Harry was quietly grateful that Remus took that burden upon himself.

The whole affair – like everything else that came out of Draco's laboratory – became another of many secrets that the people of Wizarding Britain would never know. That was the last time Harry wanted to think about Sally, but he knew that her face, how he'd seen it that day in the ring, would come back to haunt him for many nights. First Cedric, now her – another of his failures, another life ended too soon that deserved to go on.

He didn't want to go back to Grimmauld Place Twelve yet. He had come to appreciate the tranquil gloom of the house – it resonated well with the Dark Touch, plucking the strings of his being – but it also tended to worsen his rotten moods, so he avoided it whenever he felt like brooding. Remus left right away to carry out his new task, but Harry lingered in Sirius' office, not really knowing what to do.

Were he at Hogwarts, he would probably be studying for the exams – or ignoring Hermione's insisting that he should be studying. Recently his days had been, for the most part, terribly empty. Oh, he found ways to keep busy – he had to brew fresh batches of his potion (it spoiled quickly, so there was no point in preparing more than a week's worth at once) and he'd even tried his hand at Wolfsbane for Remus, though his attempts so far had turned out too toxic to be of use. The library, too, held a wealth of knowledge he was free to peruse at his leisure. But despite it all, he simply felt lonely. There was no Hermione to nag him about homework (although recently their time together had gravitated towards spell creation), no Ron to joke with, no Ginny to badger him about quidditch practice. Regardless of filling up the hours, life felt _lacking_ without his friends. For a while after the trials he had entertained the notion of trying to find Sturgis, but he couldn't even apparate. Sirius had promised to teach him over the summer – or whenever he found the time, really – and even encouraged him to study as he would at Hogwarts.

"You're not the first to be kicked out of Hogwarts and you won't be the last."

Hogwarts, yes. For the first few weeks, the reality of not being a student there had kept Harry up at night, but with time, the discomfort settled down into cool acceptance. He still missed it, of course, but now, at least, he thought he could see a future for himself without a Hogwarts diploma. Whatever Sirus was planning in the long term, he seemed intent on making himself indispensible to the Ministry and Harry could help with that.

He had become a frequent visitor, and he took the plentiful opportunities to present himself in contrast to the public image that Rita Skeeter had forged of him. Percy – the last person Harry would ever imagine as an ally – had been a great guide through some of the more confusing aspects of the inner workings of the government. Harry had no real power – right now he was simply a curiosity, a confidant of the ascending Advisor Black, though that still seemed to be more than some others had. All of Fudge's staffers knew him at a glance, while he continued to struggle with their names and faces.

Harry glanced at the papers Sirius was looking over – his eyes veered quickly from right to left as he scanned the document and discarded it, chucking it onto a growing stack at the edge of his desk. He grabbed another document and dismissed it almost immediately.

"Old English," Sirius muttered, "this probably _predates_ the Warlocks' Council..."

"Why exactly are you digging through all this stuff?"

Sirius barely spared him a glance, absorbed by his work. "Right now I'm looking for any documents that mention Mordanis Black."

That piqued Harry's interest. "The Black Knight Mordanis? The one who built the house at Grimmauld Place?"

Sirius' lips peeled back, revealing teeth in a grin that might have unnerved someone who didn't know him. _"The Black Knight,_ indeed. That's actually _exactly_ what I'm looking for."

For a fleeting moment before he bit his tongue, Harry considered offering his help. He had been inside the archives proper earlier, where half a dozen of Sirius' new hires were doing their monotonous, though well-paid work. Beside them worked a number of assistants and interns from five different Departments, whom Sirius had drafted into his team. Apparently, he had periodically been making rounds throughout the day, poaching people he spotted not doing anything. There was already a rumour going around that the Unspeakables had managed to appease Sirius by preemptively offering up one of their own, a fellow named MacKree, who was now trying to devise an arithmantic formula that would revitalise the old archival enchantments.

"Right," said Harry. "Good luck with that. I'll just... go bother Percy, or something."

"You have the portkey?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah."

"Fine. Then get out."

~~oOo~~

The spacious living room of Grimmauld Place Twelve had become a recent fauvorite haunt of Harry's. He had moved rooms to a more accommodating suite, but he felt too walled-off there, too removed from the rest of the house. The kitchen really only shone in good company, and he had grown to resent the library somewhat, after repeated failures in his research of horcruxes. The decision to stop searching had been made with a topping of guilt – the horcruxes were obviously important – but ultimately, perhaps he was just looking in the wrong place. Voldemort may have found out about horcruxes at Hogwarts, but he had apparently _learned_ about them from Grindelwald. Logically then, Harry should be looking... at Durmstrang.

Although he had briefly entertained a wild plan to make his way to Germany and _somehow_ find the secretive school of magic, he quickly discarded that fantasy. He wouldn't have the first idea where or how to start. And presupposing he could get there – where in Durmstrang should he be looking? Which people to talk to? Was there even anything there to be found? Grindelwald had used the school as his headqurters during the war, but that didn't guarantee he had left behind anything of interest. In short, Harry was stuck in a dead end he had no prospect of escaping at present.

Regardless of those difficulties, the scope of such a journey overwhelmed him when he gave it a bit of thought. This was a mission for a grown, trained wizard. He wasn't at school anymore, but he wasn't feeling anything like an adult. He had heard others saying that he'd had to 'grow up quickly'. What did that mean? Could he consider himself an adult wizard? He hadn't graduated, he'd been expelled, half at his own wish. Furious as he had been when he attacked Dumbledore, he _had_ known what he was doing when he prepared his trap. Would he feel any different when he turned seventeen? His expulsion had robbed him of that future defining moment when he would have known that yes, he was an adult, ready to step out into the world. Without being able to rely on Hogwarts to anchor him to some order of things, he felt weightless, suspended in uncertainty.

That was why he liked the living room so much. There was a comforting quality to the atmosphere of a lazy evening by the fire that grounded him when he needed it, washing away the anxiety that sometimes sprung up. In those moments he would sit up, eyes wide, struck with a sudden realisation that this was all real, he was out of his depth, and didn't really know how to live a life outside of the microcosm of Hogwarts, where problems were on a scale he could wrap his head around. The threat of Voldemort seemed much more real here, when he wasn't separated from the Dark Lord by the impassable obstacle that was Albus Dumbledore.

Determined to reforge that creeping fear into productivity, he had taken to reviewing his collection of every memory of Voldemort's that he had torn from the malevolent mind. There weren't many of them, and most seemed to contain no particularly useful information, but he committed every mundane detail to memory. His peculiar connection to Voldemort made it all easier – thank Merlin for small graces. While Sirius toiled away on his project, increasingly worming his way into the Ministry's power structure, Harry spent much of April memorising Voldemort's mannerisms – the ease of his wand movements and their gradual degradation as he moved forward in his mastery of magic, how Voldemort spoke when alone, how he talked to other people, how he walked – and trying to extrapolate that onto the periods of Voldemort's life he knew nothing about, those years from which he hadn't managed to nick a single memory.

The barrier Voldemort had placed between their minds remained almost as sturdy as in the moment of its creation, and Harry still had no hope of truly invading Voldemort's mind again, not after his spectacular possession, but cracks did appear from time to time. When they did, Harry then drew on those cracks, all but placing his mouth on them and sucking for all he was worth, not unlike a dementor, trying to summon even the most meagre bits he could snatch and add to his pensieve. The barrier between two minds was imperfect, degrading over time, and though Harry was absently concerned with what would happen once it was damaged enough for Voldemort to notice, he still took every opportunity presented to him.

His persistence was rewarded eventually. Most of the new material were but single flashes, rarely more than a clouded moment, not nearly enough to reconstruct an entire memory from it. There came a day, however, when a large enough imperfection in the barrier appeared for Harry to snatch a floating page with frayed edges, torn from an imaginary book, before the gap almost closed around his spectral arm, damn near snapping it off at the elbow.

Scurrying back into reality, he emerged in the darkened living room, where the dying fire provided just enough light to see by. The silver memories in the pensive glowed stronger, casting a pale gleam on the ceiling. The hand that had grabbed the page was empty, but the memory clung to his fingers like a ghostly membrane, stretched across his palm. As always after a successful hunt, Harry grinned, adding the new memory to the pensieve.

He dipped his fingers into the basin, stirring the not-liquid, and the swirling made the silver light grow brighter. Harry drew out the new memory to the forefront and dove in.

~~oOo~~

The large room was tastefully decorated with a well-matched symphony of dark wood, goblin-made quartz crystal, stone, and black iron. Enchanted candelabras had been dimmed, and the alternating spots of light and shadow lent the room a raw, severe quality. The room had been expertly crafted, but materials in themselves were inexpensive. One might say, such a room belonged in the home of someone who wished to artificially elevate themselves, while unable to match the opulent wealth of a true aristocrat. Voldemort knew better.

The witch who lived in this house revelled in manipulating her enemies and friends alike to underestimate her, leaving only enough room for doubt to draw pleasure from their subsequent realisation that they'd been played by someone far out of their league. Voldemort wasn't easily manipulated – he had dedicated his life to achieving mastery in this art, like the many that preceeded it. He had almost fallen for the witch's tricks, years ago. He had been young and naive. He had grown, while she remained static, assured in her position, because no had dared to challenge her.

Voldemort had dared, he had bested her, and now she was at his mercy.

"Kick and scream to your heart's content," he said, his tone flat, almost lifeless, like the chains binding the witch – just as cold and emotionless. Unrelenting. Foretelling inevitability. Try as she might, there was nothing she could do to change her fate now.

She didn't seem agreeable to inevitability.

She trashed and wriggled in her bonds, all for naught, yet she persisted. The chains rattled, assaulting Voldemort's ears with a metallic cacophony that made his teeth vibrate. He did not move to stun or calm her. He _wanted_ her to fight till her last breath, to be fully aware of her own helplessness.

She was in his power, just as he had been when she used to all but torture him, supposedly at Grindelwald's command, to stregthen his body before Grindelwald could strengthen his soul. He had never questioned her, though the abuse had stretched his patience to the absolute limit. Later, it turned out that while she had drawn every bit of perverse pleasure she could have from his pain, she had been telling the truth. Ultimately, Voldemort had her to thank, in part, for his success with the horcruxes. If she hadn't done all she had to him, he perhaps would never have been able to surpass her dark master. Really, she'd done him a favour.

It didn't mean Voldemort's hadn't hated her. While he wasn't particularly adept at acknowledging things such as friendship or sympathy, he knew how to inspire fear and loyalty. He was the master of pain in all forms, and above all, he knew the universal truth of hatred. The chasm Caroline had wedged herself into in his heart was as bottomless as the universe was wide. He had waited years to repay her for the effort she'd put into his preparation for the highest of alchemical arts, and he intended to return Caroline's _kindness._

The formula ingrained perfectly in his mind, he worked on the... He'd never quite found the right name for it. Alchemy was a _different_ sort of magic. It seemed inappropriate to call it a mere spell and neither was it a potion, or even an amalgamation of these. Something else entirely, escaping the boundaries of human language. And perhaps that was the correct state of things. Death was similarly unfathomable, and yet he was about to ensure his freedom from it the fifth time over.

The diadem, the famed Silverfeather Crown, rested just left of him, within reach, reflected in the polished surface of Caroline's dinner table, awaiting the ascendance that would remake it into something – unimaginably – far greater than a Founder's relic. Voldemort glanced at the crown. The thousand-year-old circlet of purest silver seemed to absorb light instead of reflecting it – an artifact of initial spellwork he'd already placed on it in preparation for the final stage of the process.

"When I shed these chains, I will make your pain into a monument to Death itself," Caroline growled, though her voice became a seductive purr as she spoke, unable to help herself flirting even as she was about to die, to provide Voldemort with the necessary sacrifice.

"I have no doubt that you could," Voldemort said, putting the last touches on his work. "You are a breathtakingly skilled witch. But I'm afraid that your legend ends here."

Voldemort looked up at Caroline. It had been twenty years, but she was still as beautiful as he remembered her. Even among witchfolk, she was uncommonly blessed, escaping the clutches of time to retain her deceptive allure. A pitiful irony, that Grindelwald's most dedicated follower had never made a horcrux, deeming herself _unworthy._ The other four of the five had tried, but this magic was inaccessible to but a few. To Voldemort's knowledge, only Vergir had succeeded. Naturally, he had made hunting Vergir down a priority once he felt up to the task.

Caroline's strange grimace was more amusing than threatening – she glared, but ran her tongue along her lips, torn between threats and flirting. She stirred as Voldemort approached, bearing the Silverfeather Crown on both palms. He didn't know if it was fear or pleasure moving her just then. She went rigid still when he reached up to place the diadem on her head, remaining so utterly motionless that even the chains keeping her suspended in the air ceased their noisy clinking.

Caroline drew in a deep breath and blinked rapidly, then looked down, meeting Voldemort's eyes. She wasn't fighting anymore.

He ran a pale finger from her cheek down to her neck, and toward the breast. "I'm glad you understand," he said, rewarding her with the ghost of a smile. Caroline's chest rose and fell as she breathed in and out through her nose, saying nothing. Voldemort raised his wand and the chains obeyed, drawing out Caroline's limbs so that, together with her head, they formed a five-pointed star. The porous metal then constricted around her ankles, wrists, and neck until skin split and yielded blood.

She hung suspended, bleeding, and he realised he was just _standing_ there, and she was either dying or dead already...

"SIRIUS!" he yelled. "GET DOWN HERE!"

Harry paused.

No, that's not right. That had _already happened,_ this was something different, Ginny was _fine,_ she was at Hogwarts...

The dark room around him was at once familiar, his robes were pyjamas, the smooth yew under his fingers was the familiar, warm holly. Caroline Amsel was gone and in her place was Ginny, lashed to the wall by magic, her face stuck mid-scream.

Harry's heart pumped faster as he flashed back to that night, the events of which had been shrouded in permanent darkness, inaccessible, removed from his memory – only the truth was that the memory of what he'd done – _what Voldemort had done!_ – to Ginny had always been there, locked away by his own silent order that he couldn't admit to having given, because he didn't want to remember doing this, possessed or not.

Time flowed in reverse and Harry was powerless to stop it, stuck in his body, but feeling out of place as he went through the motions backwards. The Memory Charm _unstuck_ itself from Ginny. Her wounds closed, she floated down to the floor, and the spell keeping her silent leapt back toward his wand.

Ginny screamed, but Harry had taken care to place a Silencing Charm on the room beforehand, so the others wouldn't hear – her terror belonged to _him_ and no one else.

He hated himself as seconds passed no faster than they would in the real world, and his face was forced into a smile. Despite himself, the memory of satisfaction he'd felt when Ginny begged and cried infected his thoughts, and he found himself in a strange in-between state, hating and enjoying the girl's pain, just like Caroline Amsel had both desired and feared what Voldemort was going to do to her.

Ginny's tears preceeded Harry's curses. Those were then followed by healing magic that opened wounds instead of closing them, then more pain, more curses, always more, and it went on for hours, back through time, the mirror image of the night he'd spent repeatedly breaking Ginny and putting her back together, while the rest of Grimmauld Place Twelve had slept, blissfully unaware of Ginny's horror. Harry wanted to scream and cry along with her, but he couldn't, instead made to enjoy the pain he wrought as seconds mercilessly crawled backwards.

At last, when it seemed the cursed night would never end – never _begin_ – Harry found himself back in the bedroom he'd shared with Ron in the summer. The memory released its grip on him when he closed his eyes. He opened them to the blinding expanse of colourless nothing, the same non-place Voldemort had confronted him in his first night at Grimmauld Place Twelve. Harry swallowed dread – was he now going to relive that conversation with Voldemort in reverse? Would this ever stop? Or was it going to continue until the day of his birth, and beyond?

"No, I think that'll be enough for now."

Harry discovered he could finally move again, instead of being moved. Heart pounding, he spun to face Voldemort, who stared at him with the same blank expression of threat he had given Caroline. Before Harry could say anything, Voldemort spoke again.

"I warned you not to meddle in my head, Harry." The Dark Lord stood straight-backed, hands clasped behind him. Gone was the snakelike, grey-skinned monster Harry remembered from their last confrontation, replaced by a handsome, tall wizard, who couldn't be a day over thirty. He looked alien to Harry, but he knew all the same that this was unmistakably Voldemort.

He tried to speak, but what could he say after what he'd just seen, what he'd _done?_

Voldemort prolonged the silence until Harry's eyes started watering, because he dared not blink. Finally, he spoke, his tone coated in bared hostility. There was no mind game, no subtext, just a warning.

"Don't try to steal my memories again, or I'll make this a thousand times worse."

A flash, a splitting headache exploding in his skull, and Harry was back in the living room of Grimmauld Place Twelve. The fire had gone out and only reddish embers remained. Harry's knees buckled and he fell back into the armchair, wracked with a phantom recollection of the pain he'd inflicted on Ginny, shivering.

The pensieve, hovering in front of him, started vibrating so strongly that the metal heated up to white-hot within seconds. The memories inside, Voldemort's memories, stolen by Harry, meticulously collected for months, sizzled and evaporated, dissolving into an unreal cloud, which then vanished. The pensieve stopped vibrating and spinning, returning to its previous state, except it was empty. Somehow, by magic Harry hadn't ever conceived of, Voldemort had taken back what was his.

That didn't matter right now. The unlocked memory of the night Voldemort had possessed him kept playing out in Harry's thoughts. Eyes wide open, instead of the room he was in, he saw himself cast curse after curse. He lowered his head between his knees, fingernails digging into the back of his neck, and he screamed through gritted teeth, like Ginny had screamed, because he knew there was nothing he could do erase this from his mind.


	28. CHAPTER NINE: Purge, Part 2

**CHAPTER NINE: Purge**

 **Part 2**

Holding the tiny brush with trembling fingers, she carefully dusted off the last rune – the seal that would bind all others into a cohesive enchantment. She held back a breath of relief, releasing it once she was safely on solid ground. With a flurry of Banishing Charms, she scattered the makeshift scaffolding she'd erected to be able to reach the pointed top rim of the Cabinet, and beheld the fruit of her labour. She'd had to replace both wings of the door. The right one had been a particularly tricky repair – there had only been splinters left and she was no carpenter. Finding and mastering the right craftspells had taken her weeks, but that had been the easiest part.

The Cabinet's physical structure had been _mostly_ intact, it was its magic that required the most work. Nott, the useless theorist, had achieved almost no progress when she was ordered to take over. It was her most ambitious Arithmancy project, even though she was only restoring what had been broken.

Referencing the spellbook for each step, she renewed the last few charms and waited, glaring pleadingly at the lock. The arrangement of tiny gear wheels next to the doorknob remained motionless for the space of a breath, then, with a laboured _click,_ the first gear turned, nudging its neighbours into motion. As the mechanism retracted the spring, hidden out of sight among the gears, the doorknob turned counterclockwise until it completed an eighth of a full circle and once there, it snapped back up and the mechanism fell silent.

She felt the Cabinet's magic, the sensation of the wobbly enchantments locking in place. The Vanishing Cabinet accepted the reinscribed runework and settled at last, sending a thrum of magic through her body, a soundless gong that set her bones vibrating.

The silver mask was waiting on a nearby table. Her service so far had entailed no great deeds, nothing spectacular like Draco's capture of the werewolf girl, but she'd done her part over the past months. Curses, had it only been a few months? She felt as if years had gone.

Her mask bore a small array of markings on the left cheek, runes and symbols of a long-lost alphabet, entangled together, undecipherable to anyone but the Dark Lord and herself. Each Death Eater of the Inner Circle boasted such a secret bond with their master, something just for the two of them, an assurance of their worth, an expression of loyalty.

She donned her dark robes, put up the hood, and placed the mask on her face, where it adhered snugly, its magic coming alive – wearing it, she didn't even feel it there, it was like a second skin. Her field of vision, reduced to the eye slits, expanded as the mask faded into transparency, while still hiding her face from everyone else.

Approaching slowly with reverence, she opened the Cabinet's door, climbed inside, and enclosed herself in perfect darkness. Not a sliver of light found its way inside. She heard the muffled sounds of the mechanism working the spring and then silence.

The doors flew open, revealing Mulciber. He was wearing the mask, but she recognised him with a glance. After a time, it was impossible not to memorise the distinctive patterns of ink on silver. Everyone in the Inner Circle knew each other's identities, by necessity. It was only those Death Eaters outside their closed ranks that remained ignorant. The Dark Lord's spells made the markings indistinguishable to anyone not in on the secret. Quite honestly, though, if one could employ a little logical reasoning, it wasn't very hard for an outsider to decipher who was who behind the silver masks. She always thought it served more of a theatrical purpose than a practical one – a sure way to let the Inner Circle stand out and be acknowledged by those below them.

"You're here," Mulciber said. "He'll be pleased."

She exited the Cabinet, taking Mulciber's hand for support, and took the lead as they walked from the remote room where the other Cabinet was kept to the former ballroom, now the Dark Lord's laboratory. She stopped in front of the door, noticing that Mulciber had fallen back. Guessing her impending question, he shook his head.

"You're going in alone this time."

He offered no further explanation, no advice, and instead crossed the entrance hall and slipped out into the night, going off wherever his latest flight of fancy would take him. Or perhaps he was doing something important. You could never know with him.

Hand halfway up to the door, she swallowed heavily before knocking. Being alone with the Dark Lord was always a gamble – there was no telling if you were about to be rewarded or punished when there was no one else in the room for the Dark Lord to focus on. If Mulciber was telling the truth, he had been in a poor mood as of late. While her snap decision to obliviate Nott into infancy was met with understated approval in the end, the loss of the Malfoys had greatly displeased him. She wasn't very involved with the happenings at Mulciber Manor, but word reached even her at Hogwarts that Bellatrix had been made to thoroughly appreciate the depth of her failure to keep watch on her late sister's family.

Exhaling calmly, she knocked. A few seconds passed, and the door opened.

The Dark Lord looked up at her from the object he was examining – the diadem that had been the catalyst of her own transformation. Off to the side, suspended from the ceiling on a chain – was that dried blood? – a painting slowly revolved around its vertical axis.

"No need to be shy."

She almost jumped when the Dark Lord spoke, offering the closest she'd seen to a genuine smile from him, with the corners of his lips curving upwards just a bit. The door closed quietly behind her. The Dark Lord beckoned her to approach and remove the mask. She obeyed, but still another agonising, long moment of silence passed before she found her voice.

"My lord... the Vanishing Cabinet at Hogwarts is ready."

If possible, his smile grew brighter, a contrast that clashed terribly with the dark room. Heavy curtains closed of parts of it and the remaining open space was packed with tables, shelves and equipment. The Dark Lord straightened in his chair, his fingers left the silver crown for a moment. He noticed her looking at it.

"Come closer. I would like you to see something."

She obeyed. Legs shook beneath her as she took a seat opposite him. The Dark Lord stood instead, gently carrying the crown towards the painting. The frame turned slowly to face her and, at a wave of her master's hand, stopped rotating. The painting was that of a beautiful woman standing in a shadowy, fantastical garden. She could feel that the work of art was just as magical as any at Hogwarts, but curiously, the picture was motionless.

"Ravenclaw's Diadem of Wisdom," the Dark Lord said, giving the crown an appreciative look. He turned to her. "Observe."

He raised the crown towards the canvas. The painting was taller than him and the woman stood only a head shorter. He moved as if to place the crown on her head and _his hands sunk into the painting and he did just that._ He withdrew, no longer holding the crown. Instead, the woman was now wearing it, as if it had always been painted there.

"A rather fascinating piece of magic, isn't it?" the Dark Lord said, looking at the painting, his head slightly tilted. "No greater example of 'hiding in plain sight' has ever been conceived."

"How old is this portrait, my lord?"

He sat back down, interlocking his fingers together. "It's not quite as old as the diadem, but ancient enough. But I have yet to congratualate you, my dear." He nodded. "You've done splendidly."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Everything is in place. Remember – you have an important task to carry out tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord. I won't fail you."

Suddenly, the smile was replaced by a neutral expression and a cold look. "Draco said that to me, when I gave him a silver mask. Don't follow in his footsteps."

Her throat constricted, she couldn't make a sound, and it felt awfully dry. She craved a drink of water. She nodded, sitting stiffly straight.

"We shall see. You may go."

She stood, bowed, and left, berating herself not to walk too fast, but once outside the laboratory, she couldn't get to the Vanishing Cabinet quickly enough. She counted seconds under her breath while the Cabinet's mechanism clicked away and finally all but fell out of its sister at Hogwarts, landing in a heap. Only after her breathing normalised and her heart stopped hammering did she realise she'd left her mask with the Dark Lord. She would have to return and get it before tomorrow.

"Blast it," she croaked, massaging her throat. The mask could wait, at least until she didn't feel like she was about to have a heart attack. Visiting Mulciber Manor always reduced her to a bundle of nerves. She blamed that perpetual fear on the instinct Mulciber had told her to squash when he advised not to fight against the change. She had served faithfully, but still some part of her clung to the remnant of her past self, the imperfection of a previous life. She had been _good._ Why couldn't _it_ hurry up and be done already? She couldn't take this much longer. One of those times, her heart was really going to burst.

At least she was alone – no one here to witness her bumbling like a terrified house-elf. She coughed when her throat relaxed and she could breathe without wheezing. Had that been a panic attack just now? _Pull yourself together!_

There were still preparations to be made before tomorrow.

~~oOo~~

Sirius sat motionless at his desk, staring at the document in his hands, as he had been for a good few minutes, not quite believing he had found it after all. Unspeakable MacKree had done great work, allowing the rest of his hired minions to carry out the search much faster. Sirius had been prepared to have to go through the entire contents of the archives, to then find his prize in the last box, because it would be just his luck. But no, they'd stumbled upon it randomly, misplaced in a section containing mostly materials pertaining to international matters.

The object of his attention was fourteen pages of yellow, cracked parchment, held together only by the Preservation Charm woven into the leather binding, which MacKree had renewed immediately once he found the thing. Fifty-one red wax seals were affixed with strings to the spine of the small book, representing each of the members of the Warlocks' Council at the time. Pressed into the front cover was a title: _Council's Writ of Authority, Granted to Mordanis, the Black Knight._

Carefully, Sirius placed the document on the desk and cast a spell to lift the front cover. The first page repeated the title at the top, then listed the then Warlocks – with a snort, Sirius noted the name at the top of the list. Belvedrian Malfoy.

 _No matter what I do, I can't escape bloody Malfoys._

Alone and barricaded in his office – he had dismissed his workforce immediately upon the completion of their task – Sirius examined the writ. Made out to his ancestor, it had given Mordanis Black the authority to recruit a group independent of all chains of command existing at the time, answerable only to the full assembly of the Warlocks' Council, a body the Wizengamot had been modeled on. Mordanis had been tasked to assemble a number of capable witches and wizards of his choice to quell the prevailing unrest in Britain at the time, and secure the shores against the Spanish. In the times before the Statute of Secrecy, muggles and wizards tended to share conflicts and enemies more often than not.

Mordanis had done his duty well – so well, in fact, that he'd had to be stopped just short of assuming the post of Chief Warlock himself and absorbing the authority of the entire Council. That had been the only time the wizards of Britain had come close to having a single leader. The modern Minister's position couldn't hope to compare to the power the Black Knight had wielded.

Sirius didn't know yet how far he wanted to take this, but being Advisor already, he had leverage to utilise another old convention – well, not a convention. This Writ had been a once-off affair. The details weren't so important – Sirius simply needed a foothold, a _legal_ foothold. He could secure the Wizengamot's consent, even with Scrimgeour at the top. Once he and Crouch carried out their shared undertaking, Sirius would have the clout to all but demand the Wizengamot re-issue the Writ in his name. Then, the Wizengamot wouldn't much matter. Everything could be _rearranged_ with the right application of pressure and some good old fashioned populism.

The knocking on the door had grown into loud thumping and only now did Sirius notice it. He unhurriedly placed the Writ in a secure drawer, locked it and then pointed his wand at the door. The doorknob turned and Crouch entered, alone.

"Did you spend the night here?" Crouch asked.

Sirius blinked several times, then glanced at his watch. "So it would seem."

Crouch's eyebrow rose. "Did you get any sleep?"

Sirius scoffed. "Who needs sleep, Barty?" He gave a dismissive wave. "What do you want?"

Crouch frowned. "It's time."

"Is it?" Sirius consulted the calendar in the corner of his desk. Dear, he hadn't been home for two nights. The last fourty-eight hours had been a bit of a blur. "Give me a minute."

"Do you need anything?"

"Coffee."

As the excitement over his discovery gave way to the prospect of the day ahead of him, tiredness set in. Sirius chased it away – the coffee helped – knowing he would have to be sharp if things were going to go his way. He had no delusions that everything would go according to plan. The inescapable destiny of all plans was to be altered in the moment. Any variables factored in could change once the preceeding elements of the plan altered those variables and the world was so complex that there was no conceivable way to predict all the ripples in the pond. Well, no simple way. True Seers were a scarce resource.

Irritated at having lost track of time – even a two-hour nap last night would have helped – Sirius nonetheless assured Crouch that he was prepared. The Director left to carry out his part, while Sirius spruced himself up as well as magic and yesterday's clothes allowed and promptly made his way to the Atrium with an escort of two Aurors he thought he could rely on the most: Tonks and Dell Grayson.

They flanked him as he waited before the Fountain of Magical Brotherhood, hands clasped behind his back, feet sligthly apart, a posture more combative than probably required of a high-ranking civil servant, but then he wasn't one, not really. Crouch was going to fill that role today.

They waited for eight minutes until nine o'clock struck. Precisely when the long hand passed twelve, Sirius looked up towards the nearest Floo on his left.

Nothing.

 _Oh well. Now it's going to be a tad anticlimactic._

He waited seventeen more seconds before it flared up green and his expected arrival materialised from the fire.

Amelia Bones strode forward with an air of professionalism and certainty, as if she had never left her post. She noticed him immediately and Sirius came forward to greet her, mindless of the curious looks the passers-by were sparing the former Director, soon to resume her position.

Sirius offered a curteous smile in greeting. Amelia remained the image of rigid adherence to the law. She had been quite apologetic when he'd visited her, emabarrassed on behalf of the DMLE for not investigating his matter, even though it had happened years before she had anything to say in the Auror Office. That had been the moment Sirius knew he could use her.

"Ma'am. It's a pleasure to see you again where you belong."

Amelia cast a surreptituous glance around, admiring the opulent decor of the Atrium.

"I can say the same, Advisor Black."

There was no need or place for smalltalk. Amelia was intimately familiar with her role in the plan. They went straight down to the Wizengamot floor, where Barty was no doubt working his... magic.

"Ah, impeccable timing, Advisor. And Madam Bones – the pleasure is all mine, I'm sure."

Crouch had the floor, speaking before the bewildered, but intrigued Wizengamot, except for one of their number. Scrimgeour was far too savvy to look red-faced, in fact he seemed somewhere between polite and bored, but his thunderous look told Sirius everything he needed to know.

 _You wanted to put your chosen heir on the throne, but you waited too long and I stole the throne from under your nose._

"I am sure I hardly need to convince you of Amelia's suitability," Crouch continued what had no doubt been a well-put together speech. "She was forced out of office due to the machinations of Dolores Umbridge, and everyone here knows all about that woman. It has been months, and still her corrupting influence lingers in the Ministry. We've recovered from the worst crisis – it is time for us to make a positive change, so that we may step into a new era of righteous governance with our heads raised high. We've come far since the Gringotts crisis, but there's much work to do yet."

Sirius was restless to get the vote over with and rush to the next stage, but he braced himself and played his part.

"Myself and Director Crouch have both worked with Amelia to ensure a swift and smooth transition of duties from Rufus Scrimgeour to his successor. I am confident there's no better candidate for the job."

Dedication. Incorruptible integrity. Loyalty to the institutions of the Ministry. Sirius mentioned all those and several more flattering characteristics, all to tickle the fancies of the Wizengamot members. Each was a person with agendas and each agenda was different, thus, they all needed to be assured that Amelia was, indeed, the candidate they should want to replace Scrimgeour.

In the times of the Warlocks' Council, all fifty-one members would have had to be present for such a vote. Fortunately, the Wizengamot was more numerous and even with absences, today saw a quorum present, with the notable absence of recently reinstated Dumbledore, suddenly called away to aid the British ambassador in France – a small favour extracted from Etienne Delacour. Although their victory had been persuaded, coerced and bought, Sirius was still nervous until the final tally confirmed Amelia's nomination.

Crouch lingered in the Wizengamot Assembly. They couldn't let the warlocks leave, not yet.

The Aurors welcomed the return of their once-leader with reserved jubilation. Amelia was well-liked, all the more for the circumstances of her departure, inadvertently orchestrated by Umbridge. Fortunately, Umbridge had been universally despised, even by those who had stuck by her, hoping for a quick rise to positions of power.

On Amelia's order, most Aurors present in the Ministry complex gathered in the large hall, the centrepiece of the Auror Office, while she addressed them. There were a few key individuals, in-the-know, reasonably trustworthy senior officers, who would help steer the Aurors in the desired direction today.

"Something of great importance is about to happen," Amelia was speaking, turning on the chair she was standing on to face all Aurors surrounding her. "I'm going to need all of you at your best today. I won't be able to oversee everything myself, so I have recruited Advisor Black," here, she turned to Sirius, "to aid me. You can ask him anything you would ask me and until I say otherwise, you will obey his orders as you would mine."

She had been speaking into a microphone that carried her words across the Ministry complex, reaching every pair of ears, from young interns performing carnal acts in remote closets, through Aurors standing guard in the cell block, to Unspeakables working in the most removed laboratories in the bowels of their mysterious Department.

Sirius turned away, then pinched himself on the arm. It wouldn't do to burst out laughing at Kingsley's face right now. Amelia relinquished her microphone.

"Head Auror Shacklebolt!"

Kingsley, in contrast to his usual sharp attentiveness, took a noticeably long moment to respond. "Yes, Madam Director?"

Amelia removed a paper plane from her pocket and sent it flying toward Kingsley. "See to it that these orders are followed to the letter. It is vitally important."

"Yes, ma'am," Kingsley said, even as he caught the plane, his face slightly askew, as if he were holding back an ugly expression.

Sirius stepped forward. "Aurors Ribs and Shins, collect your squads and follow me."

Eight Aurors in tow, Sirius led his red-robed party to the lifts, then up to level one. People parted before them and almost precisely five minutes later, they arrived in the Ministerial wing, just as another voice boomed through the building-wide speaker network.

"This is Minister Fudge speaking. I'm sure you have all heard Director Bones' announcement a few minutes ago. All employees are asked to return to their desks and cooperate with Director Bones, Advisor Black and the Aurors as they carry out their duties today. I have raised the Ministry's defences to level two. The building is unbreachable until further notice. Please, remain calm, do not attempt to leave, and work with the Aurors. Thank you."

There was a screech as the speakers died and cut out. The people around were either struck into silence or they launched into nervous whispers with their colleagues. Sirius turned on his heel and with a deliberate gesture, closed the double door, the entrance way into the Minister's Wing. For the moment, that part of the Ministry was cut off from the rest of the building, as the Ministry was from the world at large.

 _"Sonorus."_ Sirius took a deep breath and it echoed dully through the Minister's Wing, drawing everyone's attention to him. "There's no need for panic. If you cooperate in an efficient manner, this will all go smoothly and you'll be able to resume work before the hour passes. The Auror Office is going to conduct interviews with each of you, in a concerted effort to root out Voldemort's spies embedded in the Ministry."

Sirius ended the spell and turned to the Aurors accompanying him. "Shins, Ribs... Please detain everyone."

Ribs didn't react, apparently waiting for his friend to speak for them both.

"E-everyone?" Shins repeated, stammering slightly, eyes wide with surprise.

 _"Everyone."_

"But, sir... This is the _Minister's_ Wing."

Sirius nodded. "I'm aware."

"So-"

"Of course you're not going to arrest Minister Fudge, Shins," Sirius barked. "But go to his office and collect everyone who's not Cornelius Fudge. In fact, start there."

Sirius didn't know much about muggle governments. He had been raised to be familiar with the cogs that turned in those manned by wizards. Fortunately, wizardkind was slow to change and much of what Sirius had been made to learn in his youth – even though he had forgotten more than he remembered – still applied. Crouch, who, by neccessity of his job dealt with the muggles on occassion, claimed that what they were doing would be nigh impossible in a muggle Ministry. They would be shouted down as tyrants and arrested before they could do anything. But the wizarding society operated differently. 'Power' had more definitions when a skilled wizard literally had the ability to override reality at his fingertips.

Sirius dealt with the few dissenters swiftly. After that show, the rest fell in line, dutifully waiting their turn under Auror Ribs' inhuman gaze.

He couldn't oversee every interview himself, but then he didn't need to. Most people were irrelevant to his goals in this operation. He had a selection of names of particular interest he wanted to interview himself, letting Shins and his men handle the rest. Even among his chosen ones, most were dealt with quickly, their role was to provide some critical pieces of information Sirius couldn't extract in any other way. Fortunately, the Minister's Wing held no capital 'T' Targets, and Sirius soon reopened the area, leaving its population shaken, but no worse for wear, under the watchful eye of Undersecretary Percy Weasley, as he led his Aurors down one floor to the Department of Magical Transport.

The interviews took place in selected offices, commandeered by the Aurors for the occassion. While Sirius worked his way down, Amelia had started at the very bottom, skipping the Department of Mysteries for now. _That_ barrel of flubberworms required particular care. The Unspeakables were fiercely independent and Sirius had no doubt that Voldemort had had someone infiltrate it. It was likely that if there was a spy, they wouldn't be able to root them out, today or ever. With a gamble as big as today, losses were inevitable, and surely, some things would slip through the cracks. Still, Sirius was pleased. As hours passed in a perpetually nervous, exhausting atmosphere, he nonetheless felt invigourated with each arrest. Some, he had planned in meticulous detail. Others caught him by surprise.

By the time he and Amelia met halfway, between Magical Finance and Crouch's Department, Sirius had nineteen new detainees in the cell block on the bottom level. Amelia had added thirteen of her own – four of those were Wizengamot members.

"The outrage that erupted escapes description," Amelia said, drying off her glistening forehead with a handkerchief. "But I've done everything I could. And yet... I'm afraid it's still not enough."

"It never will be, Amelia," Sirius said. "It never _should_ be. Not everyone supporting Voldemort is a Death Eater. Today was about rooting out terrorists. Criminals. People who would see Voldemort ascend through violent means. Not those who simply disagree with us. If we wanted to do that, we'd have to outlaw dissent and I'm sure no one on either side wants that. _That_ would be going too far."

Sirius could even say he mostly believed what he'd just said, but some people just needed to be _removed._

Naturally, not everyone came in to work every day and no one could guarantee that none of their underlings would take a sick day or decide to go on a spontenous holiday – or _resign._ That stung the most. Kingsley, who Sirius was sure had to be seething, had nonetheless done what he had been ordered to and combed through the Aurors themselves. It was, on one hand, reassuring that apart from a recent Auror programme graduate, there had been no other arrests. On the other, the individuals Sirius had desired the most had slipped through his fingers. Chief among them, Yaxley – Voldemort's most useful spy had not come into work today, instead sending his letter of resignation by owl post. When Sirius got his hands on the letter, he barely stopped himself from shouting a vicious expletive in the middle of the Auror Office. Several short sentences that comprised the letter sunk into the parchment and then a different message emerged. Addressed to _him._

 _Advisor Black,_

I wish you success in your New Ministry.

Lord Voldemort

He had read that letter halfway through the day and in that moment, he had hesitated, something he had no experienced once in the planning of this endeavour. If Voldemort knew, was there even still a point in continuing this? He could have made any number of his own preparations. Let some 'spies' get captured to allow others to go unnoticed. Educate those he wanted to keep their positions on how to best escape detection.

Not even the best laid plans were foolproof and Sirius had been made a fool by the one enemy he had wanted to keep in the dark. Perhaps he had been too enthusiastic, too eager. He shouldn't have expected to be able to keep an operation this large a secret. But... did that mean there was a traitor in his trusted ranks? Granted, there weren't many he had involved in the planning and this morning he could have said he was sure of each and every one of them, but Peter remained a humbling lesson that Sirius had purposefully pushed from his mind. Had someone been turned? Was it a failure of execution, just bad luck, or something else he hadn't accounted for?

He had pushed to complete the plan regardless. At that point he had taken things too far to back out halfway through. He could still get something done if he executed the plan as he had envisioned it. If he let things take what course they may, there might have been no containing the negative consequences.

The first attempted riot had begun in Games and Sports, but Amelia quashed it with her usual admirable efficiency. When she related what had happened, Sirius found himself appreciating her ruthlessness. Amelia Bones came from a long line of Aurors. Her unbent loyalty to those she perceived as trustworthy could be as much an asset as a liability. Fudge hadn't known how to use her. Sirius had taken weeks to get to know this woman. He knew how to steer her towards his goals – how to make his goals _hers._

The lockdown continued until the late evening, when Sirius signalled Percy to have Fudge pull back the security and the crowd of frustrated, scared, angry, righteous, occassionally supportive of the whole affair, and rarely opinionless employees of the Ministry left work after this most strange day, having been made to listen to the Minister's last announcement, in which he expressed his gratitude for everyone's patience and cooperation. The moment the doors of the Ministry opened, Sirius welcomed his secret weapon into his office. The deed was done. Now, he had to inform the people of Wizarding Britain before dissenting voices dominated public discourse.

"Good evening, Miss Skeeter."

The witch who used to inspire a degree of dread in Harry still looked largely the same, in her form-fitting robes the appaling shade of yellow and the infamous Quick-Quotes Quill sticking out of her handbag, but she cut a much less intimidating figure, alone in a room with Sirius. After Harry and _Sturgis..._ had tracked her down, she had been mostly out of work, only penning a rare article for the Prophet, but not since Sirius' ascencion.

The exclusive interview he gave – which would dominate tomorrow's Prophet – was going to be her triumphant return to hard-hitting journalism. Or so Sirius had said, after he'd all but threatened her into obedience. Rita Skeeter had her uses and soon enough she was going to leave her unsteady reporter's job for greener pastures – that is, the post of the Ministry's press secretary, an idea that had come from Crouch. Apparently, it was an essential part of muggle governance. Having done a bit of research, Sirius agreed. It couldn't hurt to have a mouthpiece he wouldn't have to regularly bribe. Barnabus Cuffe could keep his damned paper.

The clock on his desk had gone past one in the morning by the time Sirius had put everything in order. Voldemort's letter lay text down in the same drawer as the Writ. Sirius found himself peeking at it often as he and Crouch wrapped up the loose ends.

"I wonder what tomorrow's going to be like," Sirius said, staring past Crouch at something that escaped description. "Has anything changed? Or will it be business as usual?"

"We'll be just as busy, that's not going to change," Crouch replied. "We've made our positions stronger, but the Ministry is weak. It's going to take all we can give to keep it from falling into the wrong hands."

"At least there's this," Sirius said, placing the Writ on the desk, in Crouch's view.

Crouch squinted at the document. "Is this what you've been looking for in the old archives?"

"Yes."

"May I?"

"Please."

Crouch took leafed through the Writ carefully. Sirius observed him, but the Director gave no sign of surprise, unless one counted the twitch of his mustache.

"As I recall... this didn't end well for your ancestor," Crouch pointed. "He was beheaded."

"Indeed."

"And I can't say I approve of this."

Sirius stared sternly. "Barty, if I cared to know your opinion, I would have asked for it."

Crouch returned the Writ to him and straightened stiffly, looking down with a mixture of anger and disappointment. "So... this is how it's going to be?"

Locking the Writ back in the drawer, Sirius put up his feet on the desk and met Crouch's eyes. "I already control the Minister. What made you think I would stop there?"

"Am I to assume our agreement is void?"

"Don't be so sour, Barty. The agreement stays in place. As long as you're useful to me, I have no reason to get rid of you. So, keep making yourself useful."

For a fleeting instance, Sirius thought Crouch was going to draw his wand. Ultimately, however, the Director knew he couldn't beat Sirius in a duel.

Pressure mounted between them, until Crouch exhaled slowly. "Good night, Advisor."

"Good night, Barty," Sirius replied. When Crouch left, he locked the door and closed his eyes. Merlin, he was tired. He could catch a quick nap before going home.

~~oOo~~

Remus was off on someone's trail again and Sirius hadn't come home for the night. Kreacher left him well enough alone. Harry was glad for the solitude.

He woke up on the floor of the salon, feeling stiff and aching all over after the night spent bent over awkwardly up against the sofa. The pensieve still floated where he'd left it. All the lamps were out and the remaining glow of the now cold embers in the fireplace had died completely, leaving the room chilly and dark.

Groaning, Harry stood and stretched, wincing when he moved his neck to massage the stiffness out. Apprehensive, he touched the back of his neck to find two rows of tiny perforations. He had dug his nails in so hard that he'd drawn blood.

In the bathroom, he found a worn down version of himself looking back at him from the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes, hair wilder than most days, and the unspeakable tiredness he felt deep in his bones, as if he'd aged thirty years in the span of hours. He splashed his face with cold water, blinking away the weariness. He summoned Kreacher to take care of his clothes, stinking of sweat, and climbed into the shower, where he stood under the hot stream until his skin took on a pink hue. Little by little, he raised the temperature until the water threatened to leave blisters.

A good hour passed before was dressed and fresh again, though still not feeling of any use. He spared the empty pensieve a glance on his way down to the kitchen and immediately looked away. He chased Kreacher out of the pantry and set about making breakfast for three, disregarding the fact that neither Remus or Sirius were home. He set the table for three people as well, and poured three cups of coffee, then drank all of them, even though he despied the taste. He cleaned up after himself and his absent housemates, foregoing magic to wash the dishes by hand.

When he had no more excuses to avoid reflecting on last night, he sat at the table, forehead to the cold, smooth wood, and thought, afraid of what he might see under closed eyelids.

The memory sprang up at once, though less threatening than when he had been reliving it, every torturous second. The questions came hurtling with the inevitable weight of guilt settling on his slackened shoulders.

Should he tell Ginny? Should he tell anyone? Certainly, there was no _benefit_ in sharing this secret – no doubt about that – but could he bear the burden silently? What if he couldn't, what if he decided to keep everything to himself and one day he would not be able to keep it in anymore and he'd shout it in middle of Diagon Alley?

 _I TORTURED HER TO THE BRINK OF DEATH AND SANITY._

What did it matter, in the grand scheme of things, that Voldemort had possessed him? He had been present in a way Voldemort hadn't been. Whether guided, manipulated, or controlled, he had performed every curse, inflicted every wound, feeling like he _had_ been the one doing it all, and he had enjoyed it, drawing pleasure he rarely ever got to taste. How much of that had been Voldemort's influence and how much had it been him, giving into the urges he'd invited into his mind the moment he'd started discovering Dark magic through stolen memories? Could he ever make that distinction, if there even was one? If he did tell Ginny... why? What would that accomplish but pain?

 _No,_ he decided at last, _there is no point. Just another secret to keep._

It didn't make him feel any better – worse, if possible, because telling the truth was the _right thing to do,_ wasn't it? It had to be. Did he care for right or wrong in this instance? If he didn't, was that a step too far? That was what Voldemort would have done – except he wouldn't have felt guilty about it. At least Harry could take solace in that.

 _I'm still human enough to feel guilt. I suppose that's something._

Ultimately, after the tears shed last night and the screams that had left his throat raw and himself speaking in a coarse whisper, Harry was left empty of emotion, void of any feeling he could offer as penance to his guilty conscience.

Then he remembered Snape, Dumbledore, and _that_ betrayal.

He shouted, clawed at and banged on the table until his fists were numb. If he withheld it, he was no better than Dumbledore. As Sturgis had said, he'd already lost the right to call himself good when he killed Peter, but could he still be righteous if he kept this to himself? Where was the line drawn?

He could imagine the scene in his head, him telling Ginny years down the line, when the guilt had eaten through to the core of his being and he could keep the dark secret no more. What would she say to him then?

With a heavy heart and a heavier soul, Harry drew himself up straight in the chair, newly determined. There was no other way. This was the right choice, and therefore the _only_ choice. For a long moment he considered going to Sirius first, but feared that if he delayed more than absolutely necessary, he would lose the courage he had mustered.

He draped the Cloak over his shoulders. The strands of glittery silver in the fabric darkened to matte black at his will. He holstered the wand and left the stifling quiet of Grimmauld Place Twelve, fading from view as he took a long walk to the Leaky Cauldron.

He still ached after his uncomfortable sleep and on top of that, a headache rose in the back of his head, pounding at the inside of his skull, but he dared not turn back to Grimmauld Place for a remedy, lest he change his mind again.

Hedwig found him just as he went inside the Owl Post Office, barking at him to hold the door for her. With a faint smile, he extended an arm for her to land on. The clerk behind the desk frowned at him, probably wandering why Harry was here if he obviously had an owl of his own. He paid the fare for the Floo and let Hedwig fly through first before he followed.

Hedwig perched on his shoulder, they exited the Hogsmeade Post Office, stepping into the brisk morning. It was almost May, but the remnants of winter still clung to the air here.

"Fly to Hogwarts, girl," Harry said. "Find Ginny for me. I'll be waiting in the Shrieking Shack."

Ginny deserved to know. Probably others, too, but he didn't feel up to confronting more than one person.

He ducked into a dark spot and willed the Cloak to hide him. Now invisible, he made his way to the Shrieking Shack, taking a little longer with each step than necessary. Voldemort's attack must have taken a greater toll on him than he'd suspected, because he felt no better than he had an hour ago. He'd hoped the residual ache would have dispersed in the bones by now, but he walked sluggishly, as faster movement caused the pains to spike. The headache blurred his vision as he approached the Shack. He sneaked inside, sat on the only whole chair in the room, and leaned back, eyes closed, breathing in and out deeply...

"Harry?"

He came to abruptly. _I must have fallen asleep._

"Harry, are you alright?"

Ginny stood in front of him. Her face was pink from walking through the chilly tunnel, her hair tusled from gusts of wind that found their way in through the cracks in the Shack's walls. Harry swallowed heavily.

"Thanks for meeting me."

Ginny smiled. "Hedwig kept pestering me until I followed her. I don't see I had much of a choice." She came closer and he shot up from the chair, knocking it over. Ginny frowned, looking worried. "Harry, what's been happening? We haven't talked since you left Hogwarts. Things are... strange, without you there."

Harry stared at her and she met his eyes with concern. How could he begin to tell her? His gaze slid from her neck to her wrist. She wearing gloves and a scarf. If he looked closely, would he see scars?

"Ginny, there's something I need to tell you. It's about—" He paused, stumbling back towards the wall. The headache flared up, blinding him, and the itching he had dismissed earlier turned into a painful burn under his clothes, running down his chest and arms. It grew by the second and Harry remembered something important he had forgotten about.

 _I didn't take the potion—_

Panic settled in with the realisation and he before he could speak another word, he was being consumed by fire. Ginny was shouting something, but he couldn't hear anything over the rumble of his rushing blood in his ears.

Warmth washed over him and then, blissful oblivion.

He felt better when he woke up. Not by much, but enough that he had control of his body again. Unfortunately, that was the extent of good news.

He sat up on the bed. His wand and Cloak rested on the table beside it. Ginny and Hermione sat on both sides of the bed, Ron stood at the foot of it. He was the first to speak.

"How are you doing?"

"A little better," Harry said with a groan. "I wasn't planning on coming back here."

"There wasn't anything else I could do," Ginny said, apologetic. "You were thrashing about... you were in pain. I stunned you – sorry about that – and brought you to Hagrid's. He- he called Dumbledore."

 _Dumbledore._ Harry shook his head. The anger he'd felt when he confronted the old wizard in the Entrance Hall wasn't coming now. He had found it increasingly more difficult over the last few weeks to call up the same fury. He didn't know whether it was for better or worse. The betrayal still gnawed at him, all the more for the fact that Snape had escaped.

"He brought you here, then left. He didn't say anything," Ron said. "McGonagall told us you were here. Pomfrey fed you a bunch of potions. No one else knows you're at the castle."

"Alright. I should leave before... something happens," Harry muttered, glancing at the door. An unease in his gut told him he should expect to have to confront Dumbledore before he made it back to London. Whatever Madam Pomfrey had done was working – for now. "I forgot my potion this morning. Stupid..."

"What's got you so rattled that you forgot to take it?" Ginny asked. "Why did you want to talk to me?"

No, he couldn't tell her now, not in this setting.

"I—I need to get back to Grimmauld Place. This can wait. Sorry for all this..."

He swung his legs down from the bed, clenching his teeth. He still hurt all over, but at least he could move. He'd been through worse.

"Harry." Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "Something's not right, we can all see it. You know you can tell us."

Before he could respond, another voice rang out throughout the castle.

"HOGWARTS IS UNDER ATTACK," Dumbledore was saying, "STUDENTS ARE TO RETURN TO THEIR DORMITORIES."

Harry was moving while the others seemed frozen still. He grabbed the wand and Cloak and blasted open the doors of the infirmary. Hogwarts, under attack? He could only imagine one wizard who would dare, but how would Death Eaters have got inside?

"Harry, wait!"

He looked over his shoulder. The others were running after him.

"Don't be ridiculous," Ginny hissed at him. "If Death Eaters are in the school, you're in no condition to fight and I can _see_ that you're wanting to."

"It's not about what I want. If they're here—"

"Harry Potter!"

He turned slowly to face two Death Eaters in bone-white masks.

"Get behind me," he ordered, stepping out in front of the others. He was nowhere near ready, but what choice did he have? Perhaps he could slow them down, so Ron, Ginny and Hermione could get away.

Ron came up to stand beside him. "You're not the boss of me. I'm not going anywhere."

Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand and was trying to pull her away. "He's right, we'd only be in the way, let's go while we can, we'll find ne of the Professors..."

Hermione wrenched herself from Ginny's grip. "Four wands against two. We can take them."

One of the Death Eaters laughed and raised his wand in a salute.

"We shall see."


	29. CHAPTER NINE: Purge, Part 3

**CHAPTER NINE: Purge**

 **Part 3**

The Death Eater made a mistake in relinquishing initiative.

Or so Harry thought.

There was no time for half-measures. The Killing Curse leapt forward eagerly and passed through the Death Eater who had saluted without resistance, scattering the phantom image like smoke. The other Death Eater similarly dissolved into nothingness when Ron's curse struck him in the chest.

A pair of spells rushed towards their group from Harry's right side, from the top of a staircase. Harry conjured a dome-shaped shield that absorbed those cast by the others, enclosing the four of them in a shimmering protective bubble. Expecting more direct attacks, Harry had no idea how to retaliate when the hallway was plunged into perfect darkness, like someone had turned off the sun. Harry turned to look at Ron, Hermione and Ginny. They stood back-to-back under Harry's shield, unable to do anything but wait for the next attack, their vision limited to the dome-shaped space under the shield.

Twin lines of light erupted from the darkness, like crackling lightning, and weaved themselves around the shield, spinning faster and faster until they joined together into a ring of blinding light. Harry squinted, keeping a tight grip on his wand. These weren't some unskilled thugs. Clearly, there was talent in Death Eater ranks beyond just the Inner Circle.

The ring of light seemed to tighten around the shield, but the more it shrank, the paler it grew, finally dissolving, failing against Harry's magic. Then at once, the oily darkness fell away, leaving behind only strands of wispy black smoke that clung to the floor around them like spokes on a wheel. The two Death Eaters were nowhere in sight.

"Harry, what do we do?" Ginny asked.

 _You were right,_ Harry thought. They should have run. They were facing wizards older and more experienced than a bunch of Hogwarts students. How did you fight an enemy you couldn't even see?

Two Bludgeoning Hexes erupted at opposite ends of the hallway, smashing into the shield with force that sent vibrations up Harry's arms, to his chest and down to his feet. It was magic of such strength as he hadn't felt since his last encounter with Mulciber. The shield shattered into sparkling fragments as if made of glass. The coordinated attack forced Harry to his knees, reigniting the pain of his injury, inadequately warded off by Madam Pomfrey's efforts.

Shaken, Harry collapsed, teeth grinding together while the others responded with spells of their own against the hidden opponents. There was no response. The Death Eaters were playing with them. The next attack was similarly indirect.

The wisps of smoke rose up, tearing fragments of stone from the floor and, like a many-fingered fist, they snapped into a conical cage held together by the mortar of black smoke, trapping them in place.

Appendages of swirling water then rose from the cracks in the floor and flooded the cage, soaking them through and tearing the wands from their hands, except Harry's. He was on his back as convulsions set in, fingers clenched painfully, the only reason why he'd held on to his wand. He stared up past three concerned faces, wishing the pain would go away, hopeless in knowing that it wouldn't, not without his potion.

 _Useless._ He was useless.

He arched in a silent spasm as a particularly searing lance of pain speared through his back. Madam Pomfrey's potions were losing the battle against Malfoy's Dark magic and the long-dormant injury took over. Harry felt hands pinning his arms down, someone sat on his trembling legs. He couldn't move.

Hermione leaned down, her wet hair clinging to his face.

"I finished your spell, Harry. I know what it does," she whispered. "You have to use it. It's the only way we're getting out of here."

She bent down so close that he felt her lips brushing his ear as she whispered the words of the incantation to him.

The world fell away. Harry forgot about the Death Eaters, about his wet clothes, about everything, desperately trying to grasp at what he'd learned of Occlumency. The _spell…_ required a _target._

"It's all right, Harry," Hermione said, her words reaching him like through fog, "I know. I'll do it. Just get us out of here. It'll only be a minute, right?"

It was logically the correct course of action – use the spell, regain control, escape the stone-and-smoke cage, get the hell out of Hogwarts. It would just be a minute, until he could find another recipient. There had to be other Death Eaters in the castle, there had to be someone they could overwhelm and bind. Only a minute for Hermione. She was strong, she could take it—

She could, she couldn't, it didn't matter. He couldn't put her through it, not after the year she'd had, not even for a minute.

Half out of his mind, Harry looked right, where Ginny was pinning down his wand arm to the floor while his muscles burned from the convulsions.

 _Nononono…_ Not an option. Not her, he had hurt her _enough_ already. And she didn't even know. But it was the only way… He wrenched his arm free of Ginny's grip and raised his wand.

 _I am so sorry._

 _"_ _Promissus Dolor!"_

Ron didn't have the advantage of Pomfrey's potions lingering in his blood. Dark magic took hold as the curse forged a bond, transferring Harry's pain to him.

An instinct struck Harry to apologise, to undo what he'd just done, but he hardened himself. No time for uselessness.

The Body Bind stopped Ron from writhing on the floor, the Silencing Charm spared Ginny and Hermione the screams. But for a look into Ron's eyes, nothing seemed wrong at all, when Harry knew all too well the agony Ron was experiencing, powerless to do anything.

"Harry – what…" Ginny stammered, but Harry ignored her.

He sprang to his feet and put his wand to work, prodding at the cage with charms and curses, aware what every second of delay was costing Ron. Nothing was working. What kind of magic was this? This was no common Transfiguration.

"Do something!" Ginny yelled, kneeling by her brother.

Harry closed his eyes and placed the left palm on one of the cage's spokes, penetrating the structure of the construct with the magical sense, like Dumbledore had taught him. Smoke licked his skin as he looked for a weak point, leaving a cold burn wherever it touched. The cage was not unlike a tree in its nature – strong at the root, where it was anchored, malleable at the peak.

Harry pointed his wand straight up at where the arms of the cage met, not so much casting any specific spell as casting _magic._ Tongues of black smoke that held the stone firmly together sizzled and started burning away like paper, and the cage wobbled. Harry banished the stone fragments outward, where they knocked over a few armour sets, shattered a peaked window, and shredded a row of portraits, to their inhabitants protests.

Harry summoned the lost wands and returned Ginny's and Hermione's. Both were looking worriedly at Ron.

"We're free, end it already!" Ginny barked.

"I have to find another recipient first."

"Merlin's sake, let's stun him, at least!" She raised her wand, but Harry clamped down on her wrist.

"Can't. It'll break the bond of the spell. It's how I designed it," he said. "Pick him up. We have to find another Death Eater to transfer the spell to instead."

"We've already found two, that went well," Ginny snarled. "How do you even know there are more?"

"Voldemort couldn't have known I'd be here today. He came for Dumbledore," Harry said. It was the only thing that made sense. "He'll have brought his best. We have to find one and surprise him."

"Voldemort?" Hermione repeated. "How—" Her eyes shot up to his forehead, then to Ron. "Oh, Merlin. I can't imagine…"

"No, you can't," Harry agreed. "Let's move."

They dried themselves off and took off through the castle. They had no clear direction, but Harry trusted his instinct and the pull of magic in his scar, like a tether tugging at him, steering him towards Voldemort. He wasn't keen on actually _finding_ him, but if there was fighting somewhere, that's where Voldemort would be. Strangely enough, without the accompanying pain, the scar was a less effective compass, as if muted.

Harry quickly gathered they were heading in the general direction of Dumbledore's office, confirming his suspicion – Voldemort was trying to eliminate his most powerful opponent. He quickened the pace, sparing a guilty glance at Ron.

For a short time, that nonetheless seemed to stretch unbearably long, they jogged through the empty hallways in a tense silence, broken only by their echoing footsteps. The castle seemed entirely abandoned. True, outside of classes, students tended to keep to the ground floor or the library, but Harry thought they should have run into someone, or at least heard something.

They were up to the fourth floor when Harry felt his magical sense spike, like a nail was suddenly driven into his brain – a warning. He stopped abruptly. Hermione ran into him. Gesturing to keep quiet, he pushed Ginny, Hermione and floating Ron into a niche that led to one of Filch's supply closets. He leaned out from behind the wall himself, keeping his eyes and wand on the nearby intersection, where their hallway met a staircase that would take them straight to the seventh floor. It wasn't Tuesday though, was it? That staircase led down to the second floor on Tuesdays.

Three Death Eaters came into view, strolling down the hallway at an unhurried pace. They looked straight ahead, failing to notice Harry.

Stepping out into the open, he swiped his wand in a flat arc, as if skipping a stone on water. A sheet of blue light flew low above the floor and scythed through the Death Eaters' knees. They fell with a collective scream when their legs suddenly couldn't support them anymore. One of them rolled on the floor to face the threat, but for naught – Harry didn't allow a moment for retaliation, sending the Death Eater crashing through a nearby window and plummeting to the ground. The other two were swiftly disarmed by Ginny and Hermione.

All three – including the one Harry had just sent away – had white masks. Had Voldemort brought the Inner Circle at all? Or were they wearing white masks to deceive the enemy? Harry approached one of the prone figures and tore off the mask, half-expecting a familiar face, but the Death Eater was a stranger.

"What's your name?"

The Death Eater said nothing.

"Nevermind. I don't really care."

Harry rose, and in that moment the Death Eater moved, plunging a previously concealed knife into Harry's thigh. Harry stared at the blade stuck in his leg, a fact that stood in stark contrast to the lack of pain. The Death Eater seemed similarly surprised.

"How the hell—"

Harry Silenced him. "I guess you'll do."

It was the work of a thought and a gesture to transfer the spell from Ron to the Death Eater. The man was bound, gagged, and then stuck in Filch's closet.

Harry helped Ron to his feet. He fell immediately, his body trembling.

"I feel like jelly," Ron mumbled, flexing shaking fingers around his wand.

"I'm so sorry, but I couldn't think of anything else…"

Ron cut him off. "Shut up. Bigger problems, yeah?" He pointed at the last Death Eater, wandless and unable to walk, but still trying to crawl away to safety.

"Um, Harry…" Hermione looked down at his leg and the knife still stuck in it. Without thinking, Harry yanked it out. Blood gushed, spurting profusely from the wound. Harry couldn't quite reconcile the sight with the lack of any sensation. Inability to feel pain was proving disorienting. The Death Eater on the receiving end of it had to be having the worst day of his life.

"What about this one?" Ron asked again, pointing at the last Death Eater, now making his way up the stairs.

Harry didn't dwell on his decision. The Killing Curse momentarily flooded the hallway with green light and then the Death Eater wasn't moving anymore. Harry turned to face his friends.

"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. They deserve no better."

Despite being assured in the deed, Harry felt a sting of concern over his friends' reactions. They may have accepted his killing of Pettigrew, but they'd had a reason to rationalise his death, borrowing Harry's own hatred – and they hadn't been there to see it.

Harry glanced at the corpse. That horrible void he'd felt the first time he'd killed wasn't here now. There was a nameless Death Eater in a white mask – a dead one. He shook his head. They hadn't time to let the others cope with death right now.

"Hermione, could you do something about this?"

She blinked, as if awakening from a trance, and looked back to the wound. Harry felt no pain, but he did feel the warm blood soaking his pant leg.

"Oh, yes… that…" she muttered quietly.

By her own admission, Hermione didn't know much about healing magic, but she was able to close the wound. It would do for now, Harry decided. He could worry about it later. He tucked the bloody knife into his jacket, not really knowing why he was taking it, just that the thought of leaving his blood for anyone to find made him uncomfortable.

None of them said anything and Harry was grateful for it. He wouldn't know what to tell them. He'd killed on a whim, thinking it simply the correct choice under the circumstances. He hadn't given a second to possible consequences – would he be in trouble with the Ministry, or was Sirius' influence enough to protect him?

He discarded such thoughts as they climbed the stairs, Ron shambling last. No students, staff, or other Death Eaters crossed their path. They soon reached the top of the stairs, coming into a wide gallery that housed the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office, and saw why the castle seemed so abandoned.

Before them stood a dozen Death Eaters, most of those in the silver masks of the Inner Circle. Several of the Professors – McGonagall, Vector, Flitwick, Trelawney – were unconscious and bound to the walls with webbing weaved from the same black smoke that had held the stone cage together.

The Death Eaters were crowded in front of a translucent barrier of bright light that rippled each time a spell slammed into it. All sound coming from behind it was muted. Harry guessed there was a matching outpost closing off the opposite end of the gallery.

Beyond the barrier, Voldemort and Dumbledore were locked in a duel. It was scarcely possible to make out what was happening.

Harry, and the others behind him, stood frozen for the space of a breath, hoping that they could sneak away unnoticed, but that hope was dashed when one of the silver-masked Death Eaters turned towards them and looked straight at Harry, tilting his head. He then twirled in place to face one of his fellows.

"I thought you said they were trapped."

Before the one in the white mask could respond, he caught a fist to the chin. The blow sprawled him on the ground. Harry was more preoccupied with the one who had spoken. He would recognise that voice anywhere.

Jervis Mulciber stepped forward and removed his mask.

"Hello Harry, Harry's friends."

"Let them go," Harry said, gripping his wand tighter. "They have no part in this."

Meanwhile, he was cursing himself. What in Merlin's bloody name had possessed him to bring them along? He should have sent them away, perhaps to the Chamber of Secrets, and gone alone, under the Cloak. Idiot, idiot, idiot!

Mulciber grinned.

"I don't think so."

For all the work they'd done, the four of them were no match for Voldemort's elite. The Death Eaters made short work of them and Harry found himself standing alone, while Hermione, Ginny and Ron had joined the trapped Professors.

"Give us some space," said Mulciber. "And… if anyone interferes, I will be _profoundly displeased."_

The other Death Eaters silently followed the order, forming a half-circle in front of the barrier, beyond which Dumbledore and Voldemort's duel raged on.

"Now, Harry…" Mulciber stood straight-backed, bowed slightly, and raised his wand in a duelist's salute. "We shall see how you've improved."

Harry responded with a curse instead of words, but Mulciber must have seen it coming, because he blocked the spell before Harry could fully conjure the thought.

"No so, Harry. We must observe the formalities. First, we bow."

And Mulciber did, bending forward in an exaggerated manner. Harry remained motionless, caught in an inescapable situation. The other Death Eaters hadn't even moved when he'd tried cursing Mulciber right away, either cowed by the Butcher's threat or simply unconcerned, for whatever reason.

Harry bowed, inclining his neck just enough to appear that he had moved at all.

"Very well," Mulciber said, sounding pleased. _"Now_ we can begin. In the spirit of fair sportsmanship, I'll let you make the first move."

Harry's thoughts were running a mile a minute. He had no chance of beating Mulciber and even if by some miracle he did, there were eight more Death Eaters behind him and Dumbledore couldn't help. He held no delusion about coming out of this better off, but perhaps he could at least cut the prisoners loose, create enough of a distraction to let them slip away and contact the Ministry...

He snapped off a Flashbang Hex, but Mulciber's mask faded into view for a split second to protect him and then disappeared again. Harry followed up with a Killing Curse - that had the others reaching for wands - but Mulciber conjured a circular shield of dark metal, which cracked under the power of the spell.

Before he could move again, Harry found his wrist and shoulder trapped by metal fingers. Of course! - there was a reason behind Mulciber's theatrics. The animated suit of armor towered over Harry, wrenching his wand arm down towards the floor. Mulciber wasn't in a hurry to end the duel.

Steel-plate gloves squeezed and Harry flinched on reflex before he remembered.

 _I can't feel pain._

Once more aware of the superhuman advantage he temporarily possessed, he slumped down and screamed, hoping that the performance was enough to fool Mulciber, and tossed the wand over to his, free, left hand and angled it over his head, banishing the suit of armor into its constituent elements, which hurtled towards Mulciber, the edges of plates gleaming. Mulciber seemed genuinely surprised as he was forced to shield against the shower of metal.

Harry raised his left hand - the wand back in his right - and snapped his fingers, having mastered Sirius' spell since Malfoy Manor. Mulciber narrowly danced out of the way, but Harry hadn't been aiming at him.

Lightning arced from his hand and sliced through the other Death Eaters, then collided with the barrier, eliciting an otherworldly shriek when the wall of light rippled from ruby-red to sea-green and split the lightning into a thousand sparks that bounced off the stone and shocked anyone too slow to shield themselves.

It had been a wild gamble, a baseless guess, but this time, Harry had guessed right. The flock of tiny mad shocks wreaked havoc, chipping stone and biting flesh. Mulciber, much closer to the barrier than Harry, was preoccupied with not letting himself get cooked alive, buying Harry a precious second he'd hoped for with this manoeuvre.

 _"Ignis Maledictus!"_

Fiendfyre bucked once and, subjugated, gave into Harry's control. A dozen blades of vibrant red flame, their edges coated in whispy fingers of white light, sprung into existence and shot forth, slicing through the smoke-weaved bonds trapping the prisoners. Most of them were unconscious, but Ron, Hermione and Ginny wasted no time, trying to get the Professors out of the line of fire.

Mulciber whirled madly, jabbing his wand at the fiery swords, extinguishing them faster than Harry conjure more. He stepped in front of Hermione and, with a vicious slash, sent her to the ground with a bloody gash across her face. The remaining Death Eaters joined in, quickly binding Ron and Ginny, and the smoke-weaver renewed the webs that now held the captives against the floor instead.

Harry watched with growing desperation as his best effort amounted to nothing, despite his unrelenting curse-slinging against Mulciber. Their eyes met and so did their spells, clashing violently in the middle of the hallway. Mulciber twirled as he moved, briefly exposing his back, casting a bludgeoner blindly, it seemed, but the hex struck true.

Only thanks to his immunity to pain did Harry remain standing while he heard something snap unpleasantly in his chest. Mulciber glared at him, half-angry, half-impressed.

"So you have some tricks up your sleeve," the Death Eater said, mindless of his comrades, still recovering from Harry's earlier strike.

Harry conjured another handful of death, but Mulciber suddenly became _transparent_ and the Killing Curse passed right through him, scorching the wall behind. Harry scarcely shielded against a retaliatory bludgeoner, but by then Mulciber was at arm's length, a gloved fist flying towards Harry's face.

He stumbled, blinked, and hit back. Mulciber raised his off-hand, deflecting the blow with the ease of an experienced martial artist.

"Fascinating," Mulciber mumbled, and tapped Harry's chest with his wand before he could be stopped. Harry was launched backwards with such force that he was certain some parts of him must have shattered when he hit the wall. He stood, noticing that he didn't quite have the normal range of movement anymore and his left elbow was bent at a disturbing angle, reinforcing the discrepancy between the injuries and lack of any pain at all.

"Stop playing with him already!"

Mulciber responded with a haphazardly aimed curse that nonetheless found the Death Eater who'd spoken. The man yelped in pain and spun around. His momentum carried him into the magical barrier, which repulsed him with a buzz of energy.

As the Butcher approached, Harry cast one more curse, desperately praying for a miracle. He felt no pain and still he was powerless against Mulciber. His final spell splashed on a shimmering shield and then he was again face to face with the Death Eater. Mulciber kicked the wand from his hand.

"Whatever it is, it's a marvelous piece of magic," Mulciber said. "I've not heard of anything that could grant such resistance."

Resigned to whatever fate lay in store, Harry cast one last glance at his friends - _I'm sorry_ \- and hung his head down...

...and saw the hilt of the bloody knife peeking out of an inner pocket of his jacket.

With a primal roar, he launched himself forward and bowled into Mulciber, plunging the blade into the man's stomach as they fell in a tangle of limbs. Mulciber screamed furiously and yet still sprang back to his feet with catlike swiftness. Harry felt ropes constricting around his body from neck to ankles. With a groan, Mulciber pulled the knife free from his abdomen.

"I recognise that dagger... it belongs to one of the others," said a white-masked woman. "He poisoned it."

"Didn't do him much good," Harry spat, wriggling under the ropes. "He's dead."

"Well-played, Harry..." Mulciber grunted, "but still useless."

The Cruciatus Curse took hold. For a fleeting moment Harry dared hope that his own spell would be enough to ward it off. Then he felt the bond linking him to the Death Eater snap as the man passed out from the strain he'd been forced to endure and all the pain Harry had dodged came upon him like a tidal wave of hurt. He lasted only long enough to see, upside down, a black-robed figure come forward.

"Step away from my godson, Jervis," the figure said.

A miracle, Harry thought, and gave into oblivion.

~~oOo~~

Thank Merlin, someone had had the foresight to dim the lights in the room. Harry woke up groggy and feeling like a broken egg, melting into the too-soft mattress and pillows fluffed up to the point of irritation. He had to all but roll to get his feet on the ground so he could sit up.

"Careful," someone said.

Harry froze – a moment went past before he recognised Remus' voice.

"Do you know where my glasses are?" he asked, risking opening his eyes wider to blink away the remnants of sleep.

A broad-shouldered shadow stood, picked something up from the bedside table and pressed an object into Harry's hand.

"Here," Remus said. "No sudden movements. Take it slow. You took a thorough beating."

"Yeah, I know that," Harry croaked, slipping the glasses on. He was in a hospital room, but it couldn't be a muggle— "Is this St. Mungo's?"

"Yes. You've been here for two days." Remus sat back down on his chair.

 _"Only_ two days?" Harry asked with a chuckle. "That's not so bad, then."

Remus didn't appreciate the humour. "If circumstances were different, you'd be out of it for another week. As it is, we can't afford to wait that long."

"Would you mind filling me in? The last thing I remember is passing out, just as Sirius showed up."

Remus relayed the events in short, on-point sentences. Harry, still only half-aware of his surroundings, struggled to keep up.

"Hagrid got out of the castle and alerted the Ministry. Sirius and Kingsley led Aurors to Hogwarts. Voldemort ordered a retreat—"

"Just like that?" Harry interrupted. "He was fighting Dumbledore. Mulciber was there..."

"Mulciber was out of the fight the moment you stabbed him with a poisoned knife. Sirius and Kingsley overpowered that group and when they collapsed the barrier, Voldemort broke away from his duel with Dumbledore, cut a swath through the Aurors and left the castle with every Death Eater he could bring."

Left the castle... Something clicked.

"How did they get _inside_ in the first place?"

Remus looked on grimly. "We don't know. Voldemort found a way to bypass the wards entirely. Best guess is their way in was somewhere on the seventh floor. Hogwarts has been evacuated on Dumbledore's orders."

Harry processed this revelation slowly, word by word. Hogwarts. Evacuated. The safest place in Wizarding Britain, Albus Dumbledore's domain... no longer secure.

The world had changed.

Harry asked questions until he exhausted the relevant topics, and Remus obliged him. Several Death Eaters had been apprehended, others found dead – for now, Sirius had stalled inquiries into who exactly had killed them, once again abusing his position to protect Harry – but rumours were mounting and they wouldn't be able to ward them off forever. Wizengamot had declared a state of emergency and, using an ancient document, Sirius had himself proclaimed the highest officer of the Ministry. From what Harry understood, this wasn't the way Sirius had wanted to achieve that.

"So, Sirius can do just about anything he pleases?" Harry asked.

"For the moment, this means command of the Aurors," Remus explained. "With Amelia Bones' cooperation—"

"Amelia Bones? Didn't she get fired last year? What the hell's been going on?"

Remus rose and stood in front of the door, hands in pockets, his stare intense. "Harry... The reason why you're awake against the Healers' recommendation... Voldemort took three hostages, that's why he was able to flee. Sirius and Dumbledore didn't dare pursue him lest the hostages be killed."

Remus spoke three names and each one struck Harry like a curse, leaving him numb, stiff, frozen.

Ron. Ginny. Hermione. Taken by Voldemort.

"No," Harry whispered, shaking his head. He grabbed fistfuls of the bedsheets, squeezing until his fingers turned white. He leaned forward over the floor, feeling a wave of sickness coming up to his throat and he heaved, but only coughed up spit, his stomach was empty. "No. I don't believe this, I refuse—"

He jumped up and flipped the bed over, kicked the bedside table across the room and rushed at Remus, furiously clawing at the door, to get out there, find Voldemort and tear the skin from his body inch by inch...

"Harry!" Remus bellowed, gathering him into a tight embrace that Harry couldn't escape. "I know this is the _worst_ news, but you have to get a hold of yourself!"

Though shaken, Harry did. Remus was right. Raging and screaming would accomplish nothing. He slumped onto the chair Remus had vacated.

"Something is being done about this, yes?"

Remus cast a long look, estimating if he wasn't going to fly into anger again. "We've a temporary truce with Dumbledore. He and Sirius have been working for the past two days. When you're ready, we'll meet them at the Ministry. Dumbledore thinks there may be a way to defeat the Fidelius Charm."

Harry could guess the rest. They were looking for Voldemort.

"I thought it was impenetrable."

Remus shook his head. "Nothing's certain. All I know is Dumbledore has a theory, but it can't be applied without you, which is why you're awake."

Harry stepped behind a privacy screen and slowly shrugged into a fresh change of clothes waiting there for him. He recognised the dulled pain, mostly warded off by potions, but still there, just under the threshold of perception. Moving around helped to work out the lingering stiffness in his muscles, but he imagined he wouldn't be much good for anything for a while. He didn't even want to think what kind of damage had been inflicted when he'd fought Mulciber.

For once, Harry wanted to obey the Healers and stay in bed as long as they recommended, but he couldn't, not when Voldemort had his friends.

"You said this was time-sensitive," Harry said, slowly buttoning a shirt.

Remus explained Voldemort's ultimatum while Harry finished dressing. "Dumbledore is to give himself up... or one of the hostages will die every three days."

Harry paused reaching for his wand. "Three days?" he repeated, feeling his throat constrict. "And I've been here for two days."

There was a long pause before Remus spoke again. "That's why you're awake. It was the earliest the Healers agreed to. We still have a few hours left. There's a lot that can be done in that time."

Perhaps, though Remus didn't sound very assured. Nevertheless, Harry kept that comment to himself.

"Are you ready yet? We should get moving."

Movement, while not impeded by any great discomfort, still imposed a degree of reservation. Thankfully, Harry was able to avoid the crowds, wearing the Invisibility Cloak, thus directing all of his attention to one careful step after another. They made a short walk to the nearest Floo, from where they went straight to the Ministry. Harry was surprised to learn it was nearing eight in the evening. The building was largely deserted, but for the overnight staff – mostly Aurors – several of whom they passed on the way to the golden lifts. Only once they were plummeting towards Sirius' office did Harry remove the hood of the Cloak and faded into view.

In the office, they were met by Sirius and Dumbledore. The two men stood on opposite sides of the room, Dumbledore idly browsing the shelves, Sirius glaring a hole into the other wizard's back, though he turned towards Harry at once when he entered. They shared a brief hug.

"How are you doing?" Sirius asked, holding him at arms' length.

"I've been better," said Harry. "So, there's a way to defeat the Fidelius Charm. How does that help us find Voldemort?"

Dumbledore looked to Sirius, who granted permission with a dismissive gesture.

"It is no so simple, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said. "But I have an idea. Possibly one of my better ones, but it must yet be tested."

"I'll do anything," Harry said. _Even if it means working with you._

"Inescapably, we are forced to operate on a number of assumptions, though I dare say those assumptions are likely to be correct, given what we know or suspect. Facts, however scarce, tell us that Voldemort operates out of a location we don't know serves that as his headquarters, but it's unlikely the location itself is unreachable, because that is simply not how the Fidelius Charm works.

"Further," Dumbledore continued, pacing sedately around Sirius' desk, "there must be a number of Death Eaters in possession of the Secret, elseways they couldn't come and go as required. I can't imagine Voldemort would trust anyone but himself with Keeping the Secret—"

"So wherever he is, does not _belong_ to him," Remus interrupted. "Otherwise, he couldn't be the Secret Keeper."

"This is all guesswork though, isn't it?" Harry asked. "'Likely', 'probably'... we don't know anything for sure. How the hell are we supposed to find him in hours?"

Dumbledore looked at him and, for the first time in a long time, Harry met his eyes. "Ah, but you see, Harry – Voldemort is a creature of habit, and so unlikely to discard tactics that worked flawlessly before."

"What is this way to defeat the Fidelius, then?"

"This time, we find ourselves at a unique advantage," Dumbledore said and gave a slight nod. "Meaning, of course, yourself."

Dumbledore explained. Harry wasn't convinced, perhaps it was the fatalist in him talking, but he was willing to try anything. What else could he do, but exploit every avenue, real or imagined?

"We'll need a Death Eater who knows the Secret," Sirius summed up. "We've got a few knocking around downstairs."

"But how—" Harry paused. "I've never done this before. I only studied defence, not attack."

"You are also a remarkably skilled wizard," Dumbledore said, his tone reassuring. "When the need is great, you're capable of feats I can hardly imagine replicating on purpose."

Despite everything that had happened between them, Harry did feel better hearing that. Dumbledore... as reluctant as he was to admit it to himself, wasn't the enemy. Not now.

There was no time for ponderous debate. The four of them rode down to the bottom floor, where they were met by Chief Unspeakable Croaker, who greeted them with a nod, but not a single word, and silently led them to the holding cells not far from the Department of Mysteries, under double Auror guard.

On Sirius' order, the Aurors, though some of them reluctantly, vacated the cell block, leaving Harry, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore and Croaker alone with a few dozen prisoners. Most of them were unsuitable for their purpose, being the internal Ministry spies. Sirius offered a brief explanation as to how they were here now when they hadn't been just a few days ago. Apparently, the entire operation took place while Harry had been reeling from Voldemort's retaliation to the latest intrusion into his mind. Harry remained firm in his resolution to keep that secret to himself. Telling Ginny about _that_ night would have to wait – if he ever got another chance to tell her, that is—

No, he couldn't allow himself to think like that. He would get her back, get them _all_ back, and tell Ginny the truth he owed her. Nothing else was conceivable.

Dumbledore exchanged a few whispered words with Croaker, who slipped away and returned a few moments later, pressed some small object into Dumbledore's hand and left again. The Headmaster turned to Sirius and Remus.

"Perhaps it would be best if Harry and I could talk alone."

Being alone with Dumbledore was among the last things he wanted to do, but he wasn't going to argue, not when stakes were this high, this tangible.

"It's fine," Harry said. Whatever his transgressions, he doubted Dumbledore wished him ill.

The cell block gate – a massive rectangular slab of goblin-forged metal – swung shut behind Remus, and Harry and Dumbledore were left, just the two of them, in the small forechamber. Another such door separated them from the actual cells and the prisoners. They were alone, enclosed on all sides by stone, metal and a chilly echo. Dumbledore revealed what Croaker had given him – a crystal vial. Inside was a murky green liquid, dripping slowly down the crystal when Dumbledore gave it a vigorous shake.

"Wit-Sharpening Potion," the old wizard said. "Customarily, I am vehemently opposed to students utilising such dastardly means – there is no substitute for honest effort – but in this instance I think it is called for. Bottoms up, Harry."

Harry took the vial and popped the cork – and hesitated. Consecutively more bloody and gore-filled scenarios ran through his head when he thought of Ron, Ginny and Hermione in Voldemort's hands. What if Mulciber got his hands on them? He wasn't called the Butcher for no reason. Harry had read Aurors' reports from the last war. Mulciber had earned his reputation many times over.

He looked up at Dumbledore, smiling gently, benevolent as ever, but with an urging gleam in his eyes. What had he been doing at Hogwarts? And what the hell was this place? He'd never been to this part of the Ministry before. This wasn't the slick dark stone of the courtroom hallways, the mahogany and basalt of the Department of Mysteries, or even the tile and metal of the cells he remembered from his own arrests in the summer. Here, the stone looked ancient, slick and slimy, mortar chipping, bricks crumbling around the hinges of the massive doors, like he'd stepped through time into a prison from the times of the Founders. Those walls loomed threateningly, as if about to press inward and enclose him in an underground tomb...

"Harry."

Dumbledore's tone was gentle, but firm. Harry looked at the elder wizard once more, quickly shying away from the blue eyes.

"Right, yes..." He cleared his throat and emptied the vial. The potion had a metallic tang, like copper mixed with blood, and an oily texture coated his tongue, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste until saliva washed it down his throat. He licked his lips.

"I don't feel any smarter."

"It's not instantaneous. Come along," Dumbledore said. A long wand poked out of his right sleeve and Dumbledore waved it at the door they hadn't come through. The hinges groaned and the door opened slowly outward.

Harry frowned. "That's a different wand."

Dumbledore glanced down at it, as if surprised himself. "Ah, right. I'm afraid I'm no longer quite compatible with the other one."

"What did Ollivander say when you showed up?"

Dumbledore smiled under his beard. "He asked how my brother was handling having to wait while I went off to Hogwarts."

"Wait-what? No, I meant, when you went to replace your wand."

"Oh, I've had this one for years. I just haven't been using it."

"I've never heard of a wizard keeping spares."

"It's not a common practice in these parts," Dumbledore agreed.

Dumbledore went inside first. They stepped into a large, multi-story space, like a giant cube. In the middle was an enormous cage of straight steel bars, each as thick as Harry's wrist. Inside, a group of witches and wizards paced around or sat on benches. No one was talking, though Harry and Dumbledore's arrival turned some heads. From their clothing, Harry would have guessed they were Ministry employees.

"Evening," Dumbledore said with unnerving cheer, nodding politely. He turned to Harry, speaking in hushed tones, "I wouldn't approach them. No time for delays."

"Harry Potter!" One of the prisoners came closer, gripping the bars of the cage, a desperate look in his eyes. He seemed distantly familiar. "Mr. Potter, there's been a terrible misunderstanding, please, could you speak to your uncle-"

"No talking!" One of the Aurors slowly patrolling the area stormed towards the man, who jumped away from the bars as if burned, correcting the glasses slipping from his nose. The Auror lowered his wand and turned to Harry. "Please don't communicate with the prisoners. Director's orders."

Dumbledore pulled him along. The walls of the cube-shaped space were filled with smaller, individual cells, occupying three walls, save for the one where the door was. Eight cells in a row, on four floors, with narrow walkways leading up the higher ones. The same thick bars were the only barrier between Harry and the infrequent prisoner. Most of the cells were empty.

"Don't dally, Harry. Up, up."

He followed Dumbledore up the rattling staircases, climbing up to the very top. The walkways were just wide enough to allow two people to walk arm in arm, with larger, triangular platforms in corners. It was one of the corners where Dumbledore finally stopped.

They stood in front of, it seemed, the only occupied cell on this level. It housed a young woman, probably around Tonks' age. She sat on a bench with her back against the wall, closed eyes turned up towards the ceiling. Her flowing dark robes pooled around her feet. Dumbledore tapped one of the bars and they bent away, forming an archway to let the through.

The woman pointedly ignored them until Dumbledore spoke.

"Miss Fawley – how are you this dark and gloomy evening?"

Her eyes snapped open and she snorted contemptuously, saying nothing.

"Well, we're not here to chat, anyway."

"Who is she?" Harry asked. She looked at him then, as if sizing him up, then returned to her silent meditation, finding him unworthy of attention.

"Aurora Fawley, recently apprehended by Captain Robards," Dumbledore explained. "A brilliant student of Hufflepuff House and marked Death Eater."

"Ah. Alright then." That was all he needed to know.

Dumbledore leaned in, seemingly ignoring Aurora, and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. Harry internally protested the gesture, but didn't squirm away. It was of no consequence and he was here to do a particular job.

"Now, listen carefully, Harry-"

"Shouldn't we do this where she can't hear us?"

What Dumbledore said next, reminded Harry that before Dumbledore was Headmaster, he was a warlock who had fought Gellert Grindelwald.

"I wouldn't worry about Aurora overhearing us. I doubt she'll ever see the sun again."

He wasn't talking to Dumbledore the Professor. The man who'd entered the prison was the same one who'd obliviated Aurors to conceal from them who had really killed Peter Pettigrew. Harry banished all stray thoughts and did his best to call up his lessons with Snape – their substance and nothing more. Dumbledore quietly lectured, and the potion had to be working, because as he listened, Harry began believing that yes, he could do this. Failure was not an option. Lives were at stake, lives he cared about, people he knew. They had to find Voldemort.

He turned to Aurora. She remained in her position, eyes closed, ignoring the two wizards trespassing in her tiny domain. Harry didn't care to offer a warning.

 _"_ _Legilimens!"_

It was barely controlled chaos all around him. Aurora had been calm, collected – arguably, it made his task easier, just enough that he could wrap his head around all this. Aurora Fawley was not trained in Occlumency.

Had an hour gone by? A week? A minute? It was a breadth of time so gargantuan it escaped the boundaries of reality and at the same time so infinitesimally small that if one were to shrink for all eternity, one couldn't compress themselves to a measure tiny enough to match it. Time had no place in the mind, not like this, drifting, swimming, drowning in foreign memories. And yet, Harry kept his head above water, his scant experience stealing memories from Voldemort worth the price he'd paid for it. He searched relentlessly, tearing through some memories like wet paper, heedless of the damage he was inflicting, even as he heard Aurora's distant screams. He was as inexperienced in attacking the mind as she was in defending herself, but he had the advantage – he knew what he was looking for.

The search had left him nauseous and tired, deaf to his victim's pain for listening to it for so long. He found his way into the right cluster, where Voldemort's touch permeated the very non-air he wasn't breathing. The right memory, there! He reached and pulled himself towards it.

There was Aurora, among others like her, a group of robed Death Eaters, all masked, all silent, all reverently awaiting their master. Voldemort came quickly, finding them at the shore of a small lake. Trees and shrubs came right up to the water, an old willow was hunched over the surface, dipping its long, drooping branches in the lake.

"Welcome," memory-Voldemort said. "Outside of the Inner Circle, you are the first to rejoin our cause. Some of you are new to the ranks."

Memory-Aurora shuddered with excitement, feeling as if the Dark Lord were speaking to her directly.

"I shan't keep you long – time will come for more thorough introductions, when I can meet with you in smaller groups, and perhaps individually. For now, it is enough for you know where you'll be coming and going in the months ahead, while I secure a more permanent residence."

Harry stood among the crowd of Death Eaters and his eyes followed where Voldemort pointed, waiting with held breath, hoping, praying, that Dumbledore's theory was correct. Even while seeing Aurora's memory unfold, he reached within himself, towards the cursed grey corridor, open and yet unavailable to him, the connection that linked his mind to Voldemort's, and brought two elements together – the connection and the Voldemort in front of him, only a memory-shade, but looking just like the real thing. The elements collided in the moment when Voldemort spoke and Harry, even though he'd never been there at the lakeshore to hear the words, even though Voldemort had never given him the Secret, heard it with cool clarity, the power of the Fidelius Charm not broken, but circumvented.

"Mulciber Manor," Voldemort said, a monster with a snakelike face.

Harry didn't stay any longer. He had what he needed. When he pulled out of the of memories, Aurora slumped down on her bench, eyes rolled back, a line of drool clinging to the corner of her mouth. No matter. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. He turned to Dumbledore.

"I know where he is."


	30. CHAPTER TEN: Loss

**CHAPTER TEN: Loss**

Jervis thought of himself as a patient man, but everything was relative. As long as he was _doing_ something, it mattered not how distant his goal was. He hated standing still. Waiting. When he waited, his mind started to wander and stray thoughts invited doubt. There was no room for doubt in his worldview. By necessity, he had to keep moving. Years after Voldemort's fall, he had allowed himself to think he was free of his shackles. How naive. He had begun his search for answers much too late and now he was under Voldemort's command again. _Time, time, need more time. Not ready, not yet._

He rolled his eyes, gave a long-suffering sigh and sprang up from the chair he occupied, wincing when the wound in his gut made itself known. The Healer he'd _persuaded_ to take care of it had had to be obliviated and without Snape's expertise in potions, he had no choice but wait until what remained of the poison passed from his body naturally. His best guess was it was diluted manticore venom, jus concentrated enough to be gnawing on his flesh from inside out for several more days, an annoyance more than anything else, but a painful one.

The room was illuminated by the half-moon peeking out from behind the wind-rushed tattered clouds, a second-story bedroom of some muggle's house. The owner was sound asleep downstairs. For three days now, Jervis had kept this post, his gaze nailed firmly to the town square below, distinguished by a central fountain. Three other such outposts surrounded the square – Greyback and both Carrows. Three days they had been waiting here for Dumbledore to never show up. Hostages or not, Jervis was all but certain that Voldemort's ultimatum would come and go. Dumbledore's reputation was spotless, his soul much less so. He wasn't a man prone to sacrifice, not when the enemy remained at large. But Voldemort insisted, so here he was. Watching. Waiting.

Fortunately, the allotted time was nearly spent. Midnight was nigh and then he could return to doing something more productive. With hawk-like intensity, he watched as the wind-up alarm clock counted down the last seconds, ignoring the square entirely.

Something _popped_ at the edge of his awareness and he spun to face the window, his eyes growing large when he spotted a tall, robed figure standing next to the fountain.

Dumbledore had come after all.

He flew down the stairs, carried more by elation at leaving the room than a desire to fulfil his orders. The front door almost flew off the hinges under the power of his spell and he strolled outside, into a humid spring night. Dumbledore saw him right away and they watched each other as Jervis closed distance, ignoring Greyback, Amycus and Alecto, who approached with a great deal of apprehension.

"Evening, Jervis," Dumbledore said, standing with hands clasped behind his back, lacking a trademark smile and glint in the blue eyes, though his tone was as upbeat as ever.

In response, Jervis reached into his robes and took out a pair of handcuffs. Dumbledore caught them deftly.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Your wand," Jervis said in lieu of response. With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore handed over a wand Jervis had never seen him wield. He raised an eyebrow. "That's not the one I remember."

"That one is lost to me, to my unbound regret. I give you my word, I am disarmed."

Jervis snorted as Dumbledore locked the handcuffs around his wrists. Wandless, perhaps, but a wizard of Dumbledore's calibre was never unarmed.

 _"_ _Accio."_

No hidden weapon flew forth. Satisfied, Jervis pocketed Dumbledore's wand, laid a hand on the man's shoulder and whisked them away from the quiet town to the rickety boathouse, the only puncture in an impressive array of wards and enchantments around Mulciber Manor. The others followed shortly and Mulciber headed the procession, Dumbledore behind him, with Greyback and the Carrows watching intently at the back.

They entered through the front door, welcomed by silence and shadows. The Manor had been emptied almost entirely, on Voldemort's orders. It was only ever meant to be a temporary lair and with the reluctant cooperation of Elizer Agrattsi more or less secured – not that he'd had much of a choice – the Dark Lord would be leaving Britain behind. It confirmed what many of the Inner Circle had been suspecting – Voldemort had long-term plans, so alien from the violent takeover he had attempted years ago. Save for Voldemort himself, only the Inner Circle and several others besides lingered in the Manor. The loss of Malfoys had forced an acceleration of all plans and several moves that reeked of desperation, chief among which was the failed assault on Hogwarts. In the end, all it had earned Voldemort were several vacancies in the ranks and hostages of questionable bargaining worth. And yet... Dumbledore was here, though that meant little, in Jervis' mind. If something didn't go spectacularly wrong in the next hour, he would eat his shoes.

Voldemort awaited them in the dining room on the second floor. The table and chair were gone and several of the Circle guarded their master. The Dark Lord greeted them with an appreciative nod, his eyes lingered on Jervis longer than others. _No, not yet. Not ready._ He shuddered under his robes, a soft snarl escaping him before he stopped himself, but no one paid it any mind. He presented Dumbledore's wand and turned on his heel, the cloak sweeping around his ankles, to stand in the far corner.

Dumbledore seemed monstrously tired all of a sudden. His shoulder slumped and he stood less firmly than mere minutes before, although Jervis would sooner attribute it to the magic inhibitors on his wrists rather than Voldemort's presence.

"Good evening, Tom," Dumbledore said. Voldemort smiled in return and snapped Dumbledore's wand in two, seemingly with no more effort than was required to bend a blade of grass.

"That taunt has lost its power long ago, Albus," Voldemort replied. "They know who I am, and obey me all the same. Blood is noble... but power conquers all."

"I was merely being polite."

"Choose to waste your last words however you wish," said Voldemort, raising his wand. _"_ _Avada—"_

Voldemort _paused._

Jervis reacted on instinct, moving before conscious thought bid him to, just in time to shield himself from a blinding storm of spellfire that shredded the dining room. The barrage only lasted seconds, but reaped a rich harvest.

The floor collapsed under the survivors and they fell into the salon below amidst a rain of smoking rubble. Jervis cast a quick glance at the deformed corpses, at Bellatrix scampering to stand, Voldemort, demolishing the wall in front of him to face a line of Aurors and Dumbledore, simply shaking off the magic inhibitors as if they were no hindrance at all and reaching into his pocket for a wand that had somehow escaped Jervis' detection.

He made a split-second decision. To hell with everything, perhaps he would get lucky and Dumbledore would slay the Dark Lord right here. It was time to leave.

Voldemort spun and apparated, reappearing in the midst of the Aurors, cutting their numbers in half before Dumbledore was able to intervene. Jervis stood and made for the door, swearing at the unhealed wound and again when Greyback – _the bastard lives after all_ – leapt up from under the broken table and grabbed his shoulders lifting him off the ground with a furious growl. Before he could formulate an appropriate riposte, he was hurled through the very door he'd tried to reach seconds before, followed by a bellow of "Traitor!"

 _Lucky guess, Fenrir._

Jervis found his footing before Greyback reached him and with a flick of his wand sent the werewolf barrelling out the front door just as it opened, revealing another group of Aurors. How the hell did they find the Manor? Had Dumbledore broken the Fidelius Charm?

Bellatrix rushed into the entrance hall, her eyes flicked between Jervis and the Aurors and chose the third option, disapparating. Jervis would have done the same if not for the worst luck – he felt the Anti-Apparition Jinx snapping into place just then, stifling his incomplete apparition before he could move. _Fuck._

He slashed at the Aurors, backing away towards the ballroom-turned-laboratory, when his luck smiled on him. A column of Fiendfyre burst through the floor, the untamed Cursed Flame quickly spawning a gaggle of fire-beasts that separated Jervis from the Aurors. He turned and ran without a second's hesitation, aiming his wand at the nearest length of outer wall to blast himself a way out of the building.

Before he could, however, the wall came apart anyway and something big, scaly, and armed with a lot of teeth burst through. Jervis' lip quivered in sheer shock when he realised just what monster he was looking at. Infused with renewed urgency, he dashed into the laboratory, wrecking his way towards the nearest window before the basilisk could have looked at _him._ Against all reason, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the basilisk's massive body slithering past the open door.

Ready or not, it was definitely time to leave.

He vanished the glass and climbed through the window outside, thankfully, encountering no more Aurors. The Anti-Apparition Jinx made quick escape impossible, but he could sneak through the forest by the lake until he left the edge of the ward behind and apparate from there. But where to go? He had no safehouse left Britain that he trusted. The continent was the most sensible direction. He could snag a broom from somewhere and cross the Channel.

He sensed the brewing magic behind him and spun around to shield himself from a curse that would have ripped him apart, but saw no adversary. Driven to act rather than wait, he dropped to one knee and slammed his first, curled around his wand, into the ground, unleashing a circle of fire that spread around him, leaving bare, scorched soil. Dead in front of him, the circle was momentarily broken as it passed. Jervis smiled.

Twisted, gnarly roots erupted around the spot he judged his invisible opponent occupied and attacked viciously, spearing through the air with thorns longer than his forearms – and were crushed to dust when a shield sizzled like burning oil. Earth bent to Jervis' will and the topsoil rose, becoming a wave of scalding hot water that crashed towards the shield, only to split apart around it. The animated roots held strong, now wrapping themselves around enemy. Jervis formed his next spell – a bludgeoner – into a precise tool, reshaping the un-physical hammer into a spear and tossed it forth. The shield cracked and exploded, turning the roots to dust and water to vapour, but Jervis had his prey.

Ropes constricted tightly around, it seemed, nothing but air, outlining the invisible attacker. To his surprise, the wizard faded into view. Jervis grinned, despite the otherwise regrettable situation he found himself in.

Harry Potter stared with the intensity of a man possessed by unrelenting hatred.

"So kill me," he whispered, his voice firm even as his body shook with rage. "Do Voldemort's bidding."

Jervis lowered his wand. "Harry... if I wanted to kill you, you'd have been dead before we ever met."

~~oOo~~

If he were honest with himself, Harry wasn't ready for another battle. But Sirius would have to lock him up with Aurora Fawley if he meant to keep him away from this.

Harry and Dumbledore returned to Sirius and Remus. The four of them – under Harry's guidance – covertly approached the lake and hill Harry had seen in Aurora's memories. The house atop the hill was in better condition than the image in the memory, but there was no doubt – this was Mulciber Manor.

"You're certain?" Dumbledore asked. His gaze seemed to slide along the top of the hill as if nothing was there. "I sense magic in the area, indeed, but that's hardly extraordinary..."

"Believe me, this is the place," Harry said. "If I guided you closer, you could eventually see it, though, right? I'm guessing this is where Sirius was kept, so the Fidelius Charm confuses you only while you're not there."

"Correct," said Dumbledore. "Assuming that Voldemort and the hostages are all at the same location, we shall require a distraction to occupy him and anyone else on the premises while we extract the hostages."

"Distraction's easy," said Sirius. "We give Voldemort what he wants."

Harry expected Dumbledore to balk at such callousness, but he nodded in agreement. "I meant to propose it myself, anyway. It can't hurt to get me inside, within striking distance of Voldemort."

"They won't just let you walk in there," Remus observed. "You'll be disarmed at the very least. Voldemort wants you dead, but he's already tried fighting fair. I doubt he'll risk duelling you again."

Harry looked down at his watch. Just past nine in the evening. Three hours until the ultimatum would expire. He scanned the hill again. There was a boathouse at the foot of it, at the lakeshore. A rocky path wound its way from it up to the building, which itself was illuminated by a good number of lanterns casting soft amber light that deepened the shadows around. He spotted no light in any of the windows. Save for the lanterns, the house looked abandoned. Nothing in sight moved.

"There are certain to be more sophisticated protections than the Fidelius Charm alone," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort will have taken every precaution."

 _I'll take my chances._ Harry dashed from the enormous shrub they were hiding behind towards a tree halfway between them and the boathouse, planting himself flush against the trunk.

"Harry!" Sirius hissed at him. "Get back!"

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, looking ahead towards Mulciber Manor, "do you detect any kind of anti-portkey ward?"

Dumbledore, in long strides that had his long robe catching on the shrub, joined him by the tree. "I do not – and with the Fidelius Charm, I doubt Voldemort would limit modes of travel in and out of his lair."

"I need a portkey. Have it bring me back to the Ministry in five minutes. I'm going to get closer and have a look."

"Harry, this is not a good idea—"

Harry reached into his pocket. The Cloak spilled out like water and clung to him when he threw it around his shoulders. "I have an idea, but I need to get closer to the building."

"Goddamn it," Sirius barked.

Sirius yanked Harry's shoulder, turning him around. "Here," he said, placing a Galleon on Harry's palm. "Don't you take that Cloak off. You have two minutes. If you don't materialise next to me in two minutes, I will scorch everything within a mile with Fiendfyre."

Harry looked down at the coin, feeling the thrum of magic characteristic of a portkey.

"Your two minutes have begun, Harry," Sirius said curtly. "I know there's no persuading you, so you better get going."

Harry nodded, pulled the hood on and took off as fast as he could, settling into a jog along the lake, acutely aware of the seconds ticking away. He was sore and out of breath when he went past the boathouse. Determining it to be empty Harry started a nervous climb up the hill, well away from the path. Trusting the Cloak to hide him, he observed the house, looking for signs of activity, but saw nothing, not even a flicker of light nor movement in any of the windows. He circled the Manor, about halfway up the hill, until he rounded the corner of the building. He looked up and stopped abruptly.

Light shone in a second floor window, outlining a tall, dark silhouette. Harry couldn't discern any features, but by the way his scar pulsed with sudden pain, he knew he'd found what he wanted. It was Voldemort.

He froze, awaiting any sign he'd been detected, but Voldemort stood motionless in front of the window. Harry was as certain as he could be. He waited for the portkey to activate, an idea germinating in his mind.

"This is the place," Harry said once the world rearranged itself and he stood next to Sirius and Dumbledore. "Voldemort is here."

Minutes later they were back in Sirius' office at the Ministry.

"What did you see?" asked Sirius.

"Light in one room. That's where Voldemort was. It looked like he was waiting for something. You, probably," Harry said, looking at Dumbledore.

"So we know where he is – or rather, _one_ of us does." Sirius fell into his chair, scratching his temples. "What good is that? We would need to get Aurors past the Fidelius Charm to mount any sort of attack, and anyone on the inside will see us coming. There's no way we can get to the hostages before they have an opportunity to kill them or move them."

"Perhaps not," Harry said. "How does one make a portkey?"

Sirius grimaced. "Won't work. To make a portkey _to_ somewhere, you have to know where you want to go."

"Professor..." Harry said, swallowing hard. "I have three hours to learn to make a portkey. I'm going to need your help."

It was an utterly incredulous idea and Harry hardly believed it himself that it could possibly work. In the end, he couldn't tell if it came down to Dumbledore being a good teacher, or himself being a good student when he wanted to be, or both. His first portkey malfunctioned in a spectacular fashion, causing a small tornado in Sirius' office when magic danced with displaced air. His second disappeared to the company of thunder that deafened him and Dumbledore for a good few minutes.

"I don't need to cross the continent," Harry snarled through gritted teeth, more to himself than Dumbledore, "Just have to go halfway up the hill..."

Each failed attempt cost precious minutes, each one nagged more at the back of his head, distracting him from the goal. Dumbledore championed him on, but Harry increasingly gave in to panic – maybe he just wasn't good enough, maybe it simply impossible to learn portkey creation in such short time. He kept trying, however, and at some point, when he'd lost track of time, the puzzle pieces fell into place and his spell took hold. He rolled up the sleeve and looked at his watch. Sixteen minutes to midnight.

At thirteen minutes to midnight, he stood in a circle with three Auror squads as they applied Disillusionment Charms to themselves, everyone with a hand on the metal ring Harry had charmed into a portkey to carry the group far enough towards Mulciber Manor that the Fidelius Charm would no longer affect them. At eleven minutes to midnight, he transported another similar group past the ward perimeter, this time on the opposite side of the building. This group was led by Kingsley and Remus, while Sirius and Robards would lead the first to attack Voldemort's position.

Eight minutes from midnight, Harry told Dumbledore about the basilisk in the Forbidden Forest. Harry couldn't tell if Dumbledore had known all along, or if his reaction was simply very well controlled.

"I'll order him not to hurt anyone," Harry said. "I think he would be useful, as distractions go."

Thankfully, Dumbledore didn't require persuading. They brought the basilisk via portkey to the forest below Mulciber Manor, where the snake was given orders to wait until Harry could guide it through the Fidelius Charm. Dumbledore consulted his pocket watch, where tiny representations of planets and their moons circled the clockface, and wished Harry luck before departing.

At three minutes to midnight, Harry hurried back up the hill and this time didn't stop halfway. Trusting the Cloak's power, he slipped inside – the front door was open and no one was guarding it. Scanning the entrance hall nervously, he chose a door to his far right and a spark of hope was ignited when he found stairs leading down. Sirius recollection of his peculiar imprisonment had dissolved into meaningless smudges by now, but he remembered one detail: being led _up_ from the cell.

With a glance at the watch – _one minute_ – he crept downstairs, listening intently. Then, before he could move out of the way, someone ran into him, knocking them both to the ground. He rolled on top of them and pressed the tip of his wand into their neck—

Hermione.

"Shh, it's me, it's Harry," he whispered, pulling back the hood of the Cloak.

She had a look of panic in her eyes, her gaze dashed from where she'd come from to his face, to the door upstairs.

"Quiet," he urged, helping he stand. "Where are the others? How did you get out?"

"They're dead, Harry. They killed them. They're dead, we have to go, I can't—we have to _go!"_

Harry refused to believe his ears. How could Ron and Ginny be dead if Hermione was alive?

"Where are they? I need to see, Hermione, show me. Where are they?"

Hermione let out a shuddering breath. "You want to see? Go, look. I'm not going back there."

She tried to push past him, but Harry seized her shoulders. "Hermione, stop. Where did you get the wand? This one's not yours."

"I took it from the Death Eater, I—don't make me say this, Harry..."

He couldn't leave it like this. He had to see, if only to be sure. He grasped her hand and pulled her along behind him downstairs, keeping his wand raised and pointed ahead. She pulled back, but gave up immediately, unable to overpower him. They entered the dungeon, the silence disturbed only by their quickened breaths. Harry stopped in front of a Death Eater lying on the floor, the white mask askew and stained with blood that had spurted from his neck, slashed open horizontally. Hermione fell to her knees and gagged, spitting and coughing. Above them, a muffled rumble of an explosion shook dust from the ceiling.

There were only four cells. Harry let go of Hermione and dashed into the tiny, dark rooms. Two of them were empty. In the last two, he found Ron and Ginny, where they'd fallen on the floor, still warm, but their eyes empty. He didn't need to get close to pick up the lingering _scent_ of the Killing Curse. He returned to Hermione – she sat up against the wall, knees pulled up to her chin, almost choking on dry sobs.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry... But I had to see, had to make sure—let's go, we need to get you out of here before someone else comes..." He paused to clear his throat, just short of his voice breaking as he cast nervous glances up the stairs, praying that whatever Sirius was doing would draw every Death Eater in the Manor to the fight. "Hermione, please, get up."

He had to all but force her to her feet, but she did pick herself up, holding onto him for support. He dug into his pocket for the portkey he'd made to transport the Aurors past the Fidelius Charm.

"Hold this. It will take to Aurors, they'll take care of you."

She grabbed the portkey, realising a second too late that he wasn't coming with her. With a crack of air rushing to fill the space, Hermione was taken away from Mulciber Manor, leaving Harry alone with the dead. He gripped his wand so hard the wood creaked in protest.

Hinges groaned as the door upstairs was opened and hurried steps played a staccato on the steps. Harry waited, standing in full view, aiming at where the new arrival would come through. The Death Eater stopped dead in his tracks, seeing him. Harry didn't give him the chance to raise his wand. The Killing Curse reunited him with the comrade whose throat Hermione had split open.

Harry returned to the entrance hall just as Aurors burst in through the front door. Something big shot past them outside, of a vaguely humanoid shape – Harry couldn't tell. At the opposite end of the hall stood Mulciber, preparing to engage the Aurors.

 _No,_ Harry thought, heedless of his last defeat, his mind filled only with rage. _He's mine._

Fury, no matter how righteous, couldn't bridge the gap of skill. Harry found himself at Mulciber's mercy again, bound and powerless.

"So kill me," Harry whispered, half-meaning it, "do Voldemort's bidding."

Mulciber lowered his wand. "Harry... if I wanted to kill you, you'd have been dead before we ever met."

Harry slackened in the bonds.

"I'm not going to kill you," Mulciber said, taking a step backward, "there are things I must do, and things you must do... Neither of us is ready. In time... But not yet."

He took another step and smiled, disapparating from the edge of the ward. The ropes binding Harry vanished. He fell to his knees and light flickered on his glasses. He looked up – Mulciber Manor was burning, being consumed by the untamed Fiendfyre he had unleashed. In front of the blaze, a battle raged on the slope of the hill. The scar pulsed with inescapable intensity. Voldemort was still here.

Voldemort had Death Eaters at his side and was holding strong against the Aurors. Sirius and Kingsley had the Aurors spread out to flank the less numerous Death Eaters while Dumbledore engaged Voldemort himself. Harry broke into a run, to get closer and attack, no matter who, just someone he could _hurt._ He slipped between Kingsley and one of the other Aurors, raising his wand—

The world shook. The ground trembled, knocking him off his feet, the very air seemed to quake and he pressed his hands against his ears as a high-pitch, so powerful that it was almost imperceptible, threatened to rattle and crush his skull. His vision blurred as Aurors and Death Eaters alike succumbed to the power of Voldemort's spell – the Dark Lord stood tall among the fallen. Harry sought out Dumbledore, but even he hadn't been able to protect himself. Voldemort wasted no time. The Killing Curse struck with lethal precision, and Dumbledore would have been dead but for an Auror who had tackled Dumbledore out of the way, making himself the target.

Too few of the Aurors rose and engaged the enemy anew, met with Death Eaters' defence. Harry saw Sirius spit a curse and Remus foregoing magic to break a man's spine with his bare hands.

Voldemort incanted something Harry couldn't make out and energy shifted, Harry felt something shatter – the Anti-Apparition enchantment was broken. At once, Death Eaters began disapparating out of battle, leaving only four closing ranks around Voldemort. The battle stalled for a heartbeat and then erupted again. Voldemort hurled spells that battered shields into nothingness, slowly but surely cutting down the ranks of Aurors, growing his advantage inch by inch and not even Dumbledore could slow him down. Harry threw everything he had at the monster hiding behind a handsome face, but it was for nothing. Against all odds, Voldemort was winning.

 _"_ _Master, I am dying..."_

Harry stumbled, a mistake that almost cost him his life, when he heard the basilisk calling out to him. To his right, Mulciber Manor had become an inferno rivaled only by his destruction of the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, but the basilisk, trapped in there, was somehow still alive, if barely.

 _"_ _Come to me"_ Harry ordered, _Towards my voice!"_

The basilisk emerged from amongst fire and light, little more than scorched flesh clinging to bone. Its massive body slammed on the ground, crushing an entire wall. It cried, neither a hiss nor a roar, a guttural shriek, and slithered away from the Manor. Harry sense the creature's pain as life was quickly being snuffed out of it.

 _"_ _Kill him."_

In its last act, the basilisk lunged at Voldemort. The remaining Death Eaters scattered and disapparated while everyone was captivated by the sight of the monstrous snake. The basilisk's head plummeted towards Voldemort, blackened fangs snapped, and Voldemort was lifted from the ground, buried from head to waist in the serpent's mouth.

Harry fell to his knees, mind drawn to deep into combat to comprehend at first what he was seeing. A second passed, then another, as the basilisk opened its mouth again and almost tore Voldemort in half. Before it could claim the kill, however, its head exploded, showering the observers with gore. Harry threw up his arms, seeing between his fingers as Voldemort fell to the ground like a ragdoll, battered and broken, but _still alive,_ and disapparated before anyone could cast another spell.

The basilisk's corpse fell heavily, shaking the ground. Mulciber Manor burned to ash. Harry screamed into the night, robbed of his revenge.


	31. EPILOGUE: Crossroads

**EPILOGUE: Crossroads**

It was only the second funeral Harry had ever attended, but even that was two too many. He attached himself to Hermione, an altogether depressing parallel.

He had avoided the Weasleys for three days after the battle, feeling guilt with every evasion. He had been told, of course, that Molly and Arthur wanted to see him. Bill and Charlie – who had returned from the dragon reservation he worked at for the summer – had tried to ambush him at the Ministry after his testimony before the Wizengamot, but Harry escaped with the help of Percy, the only one of his family who didn't try to talk to him about it. Harry was grateful for it, though he couldn't be sure if that was because Percy respected his wish, or wanted nothing more to do with him than necessary.

Harry had been told through messengers that no one blamed him, which he found unfair. Who else bore the blame for this but him? _He_ had led his friends to Mulciber, knowing full well there were Death Eaters in the castle. Why the hell hadn't he sent them _away?_

He caved, at last, on the morning of the funeral, more by the circumstance than his own choice. The weather was perfect – not a speck of cloud to shield from the blazing sun. Harry felt even worse, if possible, seeing that. Where was rain and stormclouds, thunder and howling wind? The world itself seemed to be mocking Ginny and Ron.

He, Sirius and Remus arrived via portkey at the Foghorn Estate, the ancestral seaside seat of the Weasley clan, and the domain of the jealous, territorial great-aunt Muriel. Muriel, apparently, was a mean shrew (in Percy's words) who refused help with restoring the deteriorating mansion and demanded all of it for herself. Harry took an instant dislike to the old witch, unable to fathom why Mr. Weasley allowed her to hoard the Foghorn and live there in isolation. Worn as it was, it was a proper manor of sturdy stone, with more room on one floor than there was in the Burrow. Percy confessed, in a surprisingly callous tone, that he couldn't wait until Muriel joined her late husband in the ancestral cemetery in a far corner of the estate land. Harry, painfully aware of the reason he was even at the Foghorn, withheld his own comments – but privately, he thought Percy had a point. Muriel reminded im unfavourably of Petunia.

He could no longer justify avoiding the other Weasleys, while more mourners arrived to attend the ceremony. To his endless relief, no one blamed him, not to his face, at least. Muriel graced him with a cross look, but said nothing. Harry almost would have preferred to be yelled and screamed at, thrown out, so he wouldn't have to watch his friends being buried much too early.

Harry, Sirius and Remus weren't the only ones to make an appearance. Neville had come with his grandmother. Augusta Longbottom carried herself with cool superiority, but Harry sensed no malice behind it. If anything, she seemed protective of her grandson. In fact, most of Ron and Ginny's Hogwarts classes had come to pay their respects – even a few Slytherins. For the sake of his own sanity, Harry refused to stoop down to guesswork regarding their motives for coming, whether they were being genuine or merely playing a particular part.

He had manoeuvred to the back of the crowd during the ceremony itself, joined by Hermione, who had only left St. Mungo's the day before and stayed the night at the Burrow. Harry had spent much of the two days she'd lain in a hospital bed by her side, knowingly using Hermione's unconsciousness to avoid talking to people.

Now they stood arm in arm, heads bowed, holding hands in a mutual gesture of comfort as the burial drew to a close, or rather, Harry endured without complaint as Hermione squeezed his hand as if she were trying to crush it. Harry didn't mind if she was. A few broken fingers would be a small penance for his role in this fucking calamity.

Mourners soon lined up to offer condolences to the family and then most of them left among murmurs and muffled sobs that carried through the garden. Harry thought he'd spotted some less than genuine faces, but held back from making a scene – that would be a far greater transgression than a few insincere gestures.

He and Hermione were approached by a pair in robes that looked more fit for a cocktail party than a funeral. Daphne Greengrass looked stunning, her arm linked through that of her boyfriend. Blaise Zabini seemed content to ler her take charge.

"Miss Granger," Daphne said, nodding in acknowledgement. "Potter."

"I have a first name," Harry replied. "All of this... is stiff enough."

Daphne's eyes narrowed for a blink of an eye. "Fair enough, Harry."

"What do you want, Daphne?" Hermione asked.

"We just wanted to say we're sorry for your loss," Daphne said, while Zabini didn't actually make a sound. "Everyone knows you're close with the Weasleys."

Harry opened his mouth to bark out an unwarranted retort, but Hermione had somehow anticipated his reaction and squeezed his hand even harder, so he said nothing.

"Thank you," said Hermione. "It's very nice of you to come."

"It was only polite, after what Harry has done for my family."

As Sirius had told him, the Greengrasses had emerged without a scratch on them.

"I didin't do anything, it was Sirius."

"We've already spoken," Daphne said, nodding appreciatively. "I... have to admit that I'm not just making smalltalk, but my owls haven't been able to reach you. I'd love it if we could talk privately."

Harry didn't feel like bargaining. If this was a plot to kidnap him and deliver him to Voldemort, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

"I could come over to your house. Or we could meet in Hogsmeade. I don't know. Whatever."

"Three Broomsticks, then? Are you available tomorrow?"

"Sure. How's four o'clock?"

"Perfect," Daphne said. "I'll be waiting."

They stood in an awkward silence for a moment, which Harry found strange. Daphne Greengrass didn't seem like a person who tolerated awkward silences.

"I really am sorry about your friends. Goodbye."

Zabini remained silent. Daphne led her boyfriend away and they vanished with the crack of apparition.

Most of the mourners had left and only the closest friends of the family still lingered. Mrs Weasley wiped the tears from her face and invited them inside, over Muriel's muttered protest, and collected orders for tea. Harry could understand the need to keep busy. He politely accepted his tea and sneaked out of the house as soon as he thought it wouldn't be considered rude. He wasn't alone for long. Hermione found him there minutes later.

"Sirius just left a minute ago," she said, straightening her skirt as she sat down beside him on a weathered stone wall that marked the border of the Foghorn Estate.

"Yes, he's got some to-do at the Ministry. I think he's trying to manipulate the Wizengamot into making him King of Wizarding Britain."

"Right," Hermione said. Harry was glad to see a ghost of a smile flash on her face, even for a moment. "Remus will take you back to Grimmauld Place when you're ready."

"I can make a portkey, you know."

Hermione poked his arm. "That's illegal."

"Yeah, well, I've done worse."

He bit his tongue as soon as the words were out of his mouth. _Oh yes, brilliant joker you are, Potter._

Hermione didn't comment, but the spark of humour between them was gone instantly. Harry settled on the first thing that came to mind to disperse the tense silence.

"Hogwarts is going to be strange next year, isn't it? I can't go back, but I'll write you all the time. Every day, if you want."

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts."

The sense of her words, so... _alien_ at first, took its time getting to Harry. _Wait, what?_

"Why?"

Hermione sniffed and turned away from him, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. "I can't just go back, like nothing's happened. _Too much_ has happened, Harry. I used to love Hogwarts, but this year I hated every moment."

"Okay." Harry put an arm around her. "You can come live with Sirius and I. We'll be dropouts together... as bizarre as that sounds."

"I can't do that either. And before you ask, I'm not staying with the Weasleys."

He was out of ideas.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I want to finish school... I'm going to transfer to Beauxbatons. Professor Dumbledore is helping to arrange it."

France? She was going to bloody _France?_

"When did you decide this? Have you thought about it? Why- why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"It's already in motion, Harry. I chose to wait before I told anyone else."

Neither of them said anything for a while. Harry stood up and shrugged out of his robe. It was fiendishly hot. His head was spinning, and he wasn't sure if it was from the heat, or because of what he'd just heard. He jammed his hands into his pockets and kicked at the wall repeatedly until his polished shoe was sufficiently scuffed.

"I don't agree with this-"

"I don't need your permission, Harry."

They locked eyes. Harry felt his heart plummet, seeing a spark of anger in her face.

"I was going to say that I'm not going to fight you," he finished. "I know I can't possibly... understand... what you've been through. Just—promise we won't become strangers. I'm running out of friends, Hermione," he said, hating himself for the self-pity that had snuck into his tone, "I don't want to lose you to."

Hermione stood and latched onto him and he held her like both their lives depended on it. She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek, then pulled away. "It's not going to happen overnight. I'm going back to Hogwarts for what's left of the semester. But now, I think someone wants to talk to you."

She hugged him briefly again and left, going back inside the house, passing Dumbledore on the path. Harry watched the old wizard approach, feeling tension building up in his body. What now? He'd already been questioned by a commitee of the Wizengamot. Dumbledore could bloody well read the transcript.

"Hello, Harry."

"Professor." He wasn't going to force the niceties. He hadn't forgotten Snape.

"Allow me to express my deepest sympathies. These are dark days when war claims the young."

"Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore sat down where Hermione had been sitting a minute ago and closed his eyes for a moment, appearing to enjoy the scarce breeze reaching them from the sea. It did little to lessen the heat.

"I shan't keep you long, Harry," Dumbledore said at last, "for I have precious little time to spare myself."

"It's the weekend."

Dumbledore smiled, though there was more sadness in it than joy. "True, true... But I'm afraid this isn't a matter of the approaching work week. Indeed, I don't expect to see much of Hogwarts for the foreseeable future, and I possess passably accurate foresight, if I may be so bold."

"Sir?"

Dumbledore stood, stretching his arms out to the crack of joints. "I light of recent events, I have determined it is no longer feasible for me to remain at Hogwarts. I shall be making the announcement of my resignation at breakfast tomorrow. I do believe Professor McGonagall will make an excellent Headmistress. I do wonder who she's going to appoint to replace her as Deputy..."

Harry stood there, confounded. The vision of Hogwarts without Dumbledore refused to crystalise in his mind. Whatever his differences with the man, Albus Dumbledore seemed as much a hallmark of the school as the castle itself.

"You're... not going to teach at Beauxbatons, are you?"

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with the characteristic knowing twinkle. "I take it Miss Granger has informed you, then."

"Yes, and her decision is as bizarre as yours."

"I no longer can afford to fool myself into thinking that I can take an active role in this war by hiding in Scotland. Others may hope for the best, but we know that Voldemort still lives and he will not rest until he is destroyed completely. And, as much as it disgusts me to say it, destroyed he must be. You've bought us time, Harry. I shan't waste it."

Harry turned away, breathing in and out heavily. Things were changing too fast. He wasn't ready for this, not for any of it.

"As I said, I shall announce this tomorrow... I would like you to be there. Students of Hogwarts need leadership, whether they realise it or not, and I can't think of anyone better suited to this responsibility."

Harry looked back at Dumbledore, grimacing. "I was expelled. I can't exactly— What is that?"

Dumbledore held out to him a scroll, sealed with the Hogwarts crest in red wax.

"I am Headmaster for another day. As my final official act, I have rescinded your expulsion."

"But—I attacked you _in the Entrance Hall."_

"So you did."

"No one will agree to this! The other Professors—"

"Support my decision," Dumbledore cut in.

"The Board of Governors—"

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, gently, but firmly. "Do you not want to return to Hogwarts?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then that is it."

Feeling numb, Harry accepted the scroll. Dumbledore tipped his tall hat to him and disapparated.

~~oOo~~

There was no reliable way to measure something as intangible as power. What you had depended as much on yourself as it did on those willing to respect your authority, just like law was only valid if enforced. Sirius had learned that fundamental truth long ago.

With the destruction of Mulciber Manor and Voldemort's flight, the Fidelius Charm fell apart, allowing the whole affair to be named the Battle at the Bone Mound, after the hill atop which Mulciber Manor used to stand. The Battle had been a bittersweet victory, all things considered. Ron and Ginny's death were a steep price to pay, but Death Eaters were scattered and Voldemort gone – for now.

Sirius asserted the following day that his political capital was a rapidly shrinking resource. Aurors had been killed at the Bone Mound and deaths of children were raising an uproar. Sirius knew he had little time to act before someone else felt bold enough to act against him. He had been given supreme command of the Aurors and the entire operation, every death was being decried as his fault and damn if Sirius didn't agree, up to a point. His enemies were poised to strike at an opportune moment. The Purge – another Prophet-coined nickname that was catching on – had won him no friends, especially in the Wizengamot, not when he'd had Amelia Bones put warlocks behind bars.

The mood of the public was going to change quickly. Days ago, he had been a hero, stepping in to root out corruption and get the sludge moving through the pipes at last. Today, some were calling him a tyrant, aiming to execute a coup.

 _Well, not just yet._

He moved quickly. Throwing his weight around for the last time, he invoked his authority to convene the Wizengamot on his whim. Needless to say, Scrimgeour looked less than pleased when Sirius approached the lectern raised for him in the middle of the chamber's floor. There were noticeable swathes of vacancies among the warlocks, not just those who were being held downstairs.

For the second time in a week, Sirius placed Mordanis' Writ of Authority on the lectern before him.

"That document," Scrimgeour said, leaning forward in his seat, towering over Sirius, "is not your key to open all doors, _Advisor Black."_

Sirius surveyed the warlocks, from left to right, drinking in their displeasure. Almost all the faces uniformly displayed varying degrees of loathing, with a few notable exceptions. Dumbledore sat in the highest row, removed from the others. His face told Sirius nothing.

"I can see that you disapprove of my calling this session of the Wizengamot, Chief Warlock," Sirius said, "and I would be a fool to feign ignorance of the reasons for your scorn, unstated though they are."

He placed a hand on the Writ, but kept looking up at the assembled warlocks. "If you'll permit me to voice my petition, I will promise to never bring Mordanis' Writ into this chamber again."

Scrimgeour's left eye twitched, but it went unnoticed by anyone but Sirius. He gave a permissive wave. "I'm sure we're all anxious to hear about this petition."

Given the stage, Sirius performed his last act as Advisor Black, proposing a trade he was sure would tempt Rufus – _give me back Mordanis' Knights, and I'll leave the Ministry._

Irritated that he couldn't use phrase it exactly like that, Sirius nevertheless maintained an air of dignity as he laid out his offer, dressed in far too many fancy words, so the warlocks could digest it one little piece at a time. It was a risky move, staking everything on this gambit, but he was confident in Scrimgeour's desire to have him out of the Ministry.

"You wish to restore the Argent Knights?" Scrimgeour sounded understandably suspicious. "This is a dangerous path you tread, sir. Wizarding Britain is not as it was four hundred years ago. We have a proper government now. The Wizengamot will not tolerate another self-appointed tyrant named Black."

"Tyranny is furthest from my mind, Chief Warlock. I understand the Wizengamot's reservations," _even though you're the only one speaking, Rufus,_ "and I do not aim to compromise the integrity of the Ministry—"

"One might say you've done that already."

Sirius paused, restraining an involuntary shiver. The chill clinging to the floor of the chamber had him feeling small whenever he stood there, as if he shrank each time entering. He looked up at the challenger, his jaw set. Clearly, not all warlocks were as firmly ruled by their affiliations as he'd thought.

"The Purge," he said, careful not to raise his voice, "was as necessary as it was disruptive, madam."

Augusta Longbottom did not seem convinced.

"A strong argument can be made that your hunt for spies has made the Ministry weaker."

 _Of course it has—that's precisely what I wanted_

"I fail to see how rooting out the enemy's spies weakens our government, madam warlock."

"By undermining public trust in—"

The gavel struck once, twice, three times, silencing Augusta at once.

"Order," Scrimgeour barked, a hint of contempt in his tone, though he didn't turn to look at the woman. "We're not here now to dissect the Advisor's actions and their consequences. The issue before us is a separate matter."

Sirius held back a grin. The old lion had fallen for his ploy.

"Advisor, I will not insult your intelligence and mine by explaining to you why the Wizengamot cannot simply re-issue this Writ in your name."

"Certainly, Chief Warlock. My only concern is for the safety of Britain and its citizens."

Prompted by Scrimgeour, Sirius detailed his offer further.

"You're suggesting that Aurors are an insufficient apparatus of security," another warlock piped up. Selwyn, Scrimgeour's predecessor. Sirius had been expecting him to enter the discussion at some point. He had to be desperate to not be seen as completely defeated by his unseating as Chief Warlock. "I can't imagine that any Auror would be anyhing but insulted by such claims."

Sirius would have tipped a hat to Selwyn, were he wearing one. _Very shrewd, sir._

"I have the deepest respect for the Auror Office," Sirius said, briefly placing a hand over his heart. "But it cannot be denied that we face threats the Aurors are simply not equipped to respond to. The Dark Lord is banished from our shores, but not dead. He will return—we cannot afford to make the same mistake we made fifteen years ago." There was a murmur of approval from one side of the room. Augusta was a noteable holdout among her neighbours.

"Let us not pretend to save face," Sirius continued. "We were ill-prepared to fight another war, thankfully short as it was. We had grown complacent in apparent safety. I believe I can make the Silver Order into a shield against which any enemy of Britain will shatter."

"Certain provision would have to be agreed upon," Scrimgeour countered.

Sirius knew in that moment he'd won.

"Undoubtedly. To ensure that this new organisation, if it is sanctioned, doesn't grow corrupt as it did under the command of Mordanis Black, I would dedicate myself fully to it. As such, I would resign from all my responsibilities in the Ministry."

Responsibilities—it was a polite word that sounded nice. He had no real responsibilities as Advisor. Instead, he had a lot of privileges.

Scrimgeour allowed himself to look smug for a moment. "That's a good start, Advisor."

Deliberations went on for another hour. Sirius fought tooth and nail on every point—he had to make it look convincing. The more he opposed giving up his power as Advisor, the more readily would the warlocks grant him his wish, just to push him out of the room faster.

Once the scribe passed the newly reforged Writ to Scrimgeour to affix his seal, Sirius left the Wizengamot Assembly first, no longer Advisor Black. He was Knight-Marshal of the Silver Order, forever prihibited from inserting himself into the Ministry again and burdened with making his new title into one to be respected instead of mocked.

He ducked into a hallway leading away from the golden lifts and waited, discreetly watching the warlocks stream out of the chamber. Dumbledore was among the last leaving. He looked even more tired and worn out than Sirius remembered him mere days ago. The Bone Mound had taken a lot out of him.

"You wanted to talk," Sirius said curtly. "Let's make this quick. I'd rather not stay here longer than I have to."

"To business, then," Dumbledore said. "Do you recall our talk in my home? The envelope I gave you?"

He remembered, though if he were honest with himself, he'd forgotten about both until just now. It was in the desk drawer in his study at Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore had said the envelope contained directions to a cache he'd prepared, containing information Harry would one day need.

"I do."

"Open it," Dumbledore said, then turned on his heel and marched off with uncharacteristic abruptness.

Frowning, Sirius shoved the man and his bloody envelope to the back of his mind—he didn't have long before one of the warlocks informed the press about what had just occurred. There were a few people he wanted to talk to before they found out about the Silver Order from the paper.

Percy, the first name on his short list, had taken swift command of his underlings, readily assering his authority over even those members of staff senior to him in age and experience. Sirius was almost jealous of the ease with which the young Weasley had adapted to the environment of the Ministry. Not that Sirius hadn't enjoyed the perks of his position, but he would never have been truly comfortable being a bureaucrat.

He found Percy at the Burrow, where the Weasley clan—sans Muriel—had gathered. Sirius plucked him out of the kitchen and onto the porch.

"In a few hours, you'll read about my resignation in the Daily Prophet," Sirius began without preamble. "I'm no longer Advisor Black. I've taken a position much better suited to my talents."

Percy listened. Sirius liked that about him. He wasn't going to ask unnecessary questions if he'd been told they would be answered later.

"I told you a while ago that I was looking for people I could trust, to pool the collective resources and give this country the kick it badly needs. I want you to be one of those people. You're the first one I've come to."

"Is this going to be a clandestine operation, like the Order of the Phoenix?"

"More or less. No one's to know you work for me. You'd still be doing what you're doing at the Ministry."

Percy offere his hand, which Sirius shook. "You know I'm going with you, Sirius."

Sirius nodded. "Very well. I'll let you know when and where."

He stopped by shortly to shake hands with the other Weasley. No one brought up the funeral. No one needed to. Sirius hadn't felt their loss as keenly as others, but he'd known Ron and Ginny well enough to care about them. He backed out of the Burrow in solemn silence and made his way back to London and Grimmauld Place Twelve, where Remus, Tonks and Dell awaited him in the kitchen, on those bloody hard chairs, when there was perfectly comfortable seating in the living room.

Remus was sipping a tall pint—when he wasn't being troubled by the moon, he enjoyed a hearty drink. Tonks and Dell joked around, but the general mood was, inescapably, dulled by the morning's events.

"Greetings, friends," Sirius hollered, tossing his cloak at the rack—he missed, but the hook came alive, catching the cloak before it fell. "Where'd you get that?" he asked, pointing at Remus' glass. "Kreacher! Get me one of those!"

Tonks and Dellan didn't take much convincing. For them, the existence of the Silver Order merely gave a name to their allegiance. Remus, however, was a tougher nut to crack.

"Argent Knights," Remus repeated slowly, tasting the words. "What do you want from me, exactly?"

"To join up. Not a grunt," Sirius hurried to explain, pointing with his pint. "I already have two of those, ("Hey!" was the collective protest of Tonks and Dellan) I'll find more. Be my right hand, Remus. Harry is a bit young for this still, and I'll need someone to help me run things so _I_ don't run them into the ground."

"You jest, but you've always sold yourself short. Dumbledore agrees," Remus replied, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"Let's not talk about—"

"Is there a salary involved?" Remus interrupted.

"There can be, if you want it," Sirius said.

"I do," Tonks piped up, raising her hand. Sirius gave her a thunderous look, but she didn't seem cowed.

"It's a tempting offer, Sirius... but I don't share your enthusiasm for working for the betterment of Britain."

"Well," Sirius said, shrugging, "it was worth a try. I have another name in mind, anyway. I had a feeling you'd say no."

"What other name?" asked Tonks. "What about me? Why can't I be the right hand?"

"It'll be a surprise. Now, kids, shoo. I need to talk to this one privately," Sirius said, jerking his thumb at Remus.

"If you knew I'd refuse," Remus asked when they were alone, "then why ask at all?"

"I wanted to be sure, pin you down. You've been a ghost for weeks. Ever since you found the girl in Malfoy's dungeon."

Remus' face darkened. He knocked back the rest of his pint in one go, slamming the glass down with a thud. "Greyback escaped."

Sirius sighed, rubbing his forehead. "And I suppose you're planning to go after him? Is that why you've been brooding more than usually?"

"Can you still pull some strings in the Ministry?"

"Not anymore, but Crouch can. He'll do anything I want. What do you need?"

"Access to Azkaban. There's a prisoner there I need to talk to."

Azkaban was now being repopulated and security was tight. A few dementors had shown up at first, but were chased away. The fortress would no longer rely on those creatures. No one wanted a repeat from last fall.

"Who's the prisoner?"

"Jeremy. Don't know his last name. One of the werewolves you and Harry caught when you went after Peter."

"Consider it done. I'll badger Crouch about it tomorrow."

"Thank you." Remus stood up and made for the back door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sirius," he said, without looking back.

Tonks and Dell had apparently interpreted his words as order to leave the house altogether. Alone—unless one counted Kreacher—Sirius decided to investigate Dumbledore's envelope. In his study, he unlocked the desk drawer and sliced the envelope open. Inside was a small piece of parchment and on it, an apparent riddle—or so he thought, until the sense of the words snapped into place. Eyes going wide, he flew down the stairs to the library, where he located two volumes of memoirs of the cursed Cygnus Black—no had yet found a way to decipher the man's scribbles, written in a code the key to which could not be found anywhere in Grimmauld Place Twelve. He pushed the two cloth-bound tomes apart, revealing a wooden box that fit snugly at the back of the shelf, in a compartment Dumbledore had clearly put there himself.

"Son of a bitch, hiding things in _my_ house..."

Inside the box was a collection of memories in crystal vials and another envelope, affixed to the lid. When Harry came home sometimes later, Sirius told him nothing of what he'd learned from the notes in the envelope or the memories he'd viewed in Harry's—now again empty—pensieve. He reached to his chest, where a heavy golden locket used to rest, until he'd been forced to abandon it at Mulciber Manor. If it had still been there at the time of the battle, it was gone now. Nothing could have survived the untamed Fiendfyre.

Dumbledore was right. Harry would have to know this someday, but not yet—no reason to rush things. Voldemort wasn't an immediate threat anymore. Sirius put the box back where he'd found it.

Just another secret to keep.

 **End of Book One**


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